Interview with a boy who lived
by canihavea-soda
Summary: What would happen if the fiction we all know and love had been based on reality? What if that reality had been toned down to make it child friendly? Perhaps our reporter will discover that things are not always as they seem? Sex and scandals abound.
1. Assignment

**Interview with a boy-who-lived**

_What would happen if the fiction we all know and love had been based on reality? What if that reality had been toned-down to make it child friendly? Perhaps our intrepid reporter will discover that things are not always as they seem… Extreme AU, slight parody, ideas stolen from various sources, including, but not limited to:_

_Harry Potter series (all)  
__Barry Trotter (parody of Harry Potter. Ideas of scandal amused me.)  
Interview with a Vampire (conceptual only, as I know this author doesn't allow fanfic here)  
My own warped imagination  
And various other things besides…_

_Read at your own peril. Sex, scandal, cover-ups and more._

_

* * *

_

**Chapter one: Assignment** _  
__**  
World famous creator of Harry Potter, JK Rowling has died, aged 72.**_

_She was admitted to hospital following a diagnosis of the flu on the first of September, where her symptoms worsened throughout the night, and she fell into a coma and never regained consciousness. She had previously battled with pneumonia and suffered from adult asthma._

_Mrs Rowling, writer of the most successful series of books of all time, made a huge impression on the literary world with her magical talents…_cont. page 2

* * *

"Yes! _Score!"_ I exclaimed, flapping around my slip of paper excitedly. A few people working in the office around me looked up from their desks, perturbed; I stifled my whoops of delight with a flush. They all returned to what they had previously been doing, and I turned to the woman who'd just handed me the slip. She was primly dressed, which made the amused smile and raised eyebrow look almost out of place on her face. I could feel it as my face turned even redder. "Heh…uh…sorry," I said meekly. "So…this is a…proper article?"

"All the articles are 'proper' articles," she replied, dropping a wink; again, I found myself amazed at how her appearance had so deceived me when I first arrived at the paper. Nervously, I picked at a loose thread on the hem of my sweater. "But, if you mean is it 'filler', then no, it isn't, OK? If it's good, then it's page two follow-up." I blinked disbelievingly, before grinning broadly. On the spur of the moment, I seized her hand, shaking it so violently that her whole arm pumped up and down.

"Thanks! Wow…I – wow!" I trailed off and looked down at the piece of paper again. A wave of doubt started threatening to wash over me – before I could stop myself, I spluttered, "But, you know, are you-"

"Sure?" she supplied, glasses flashing slightly as she turned to see who'd just come through the front door. "Ah, Gainsborough," she murmured, frowning. The smile returned when she looked back at me, and I felt my anxiety decrease under the friendly gaze. "Look, I wouldn't be offering you this is I didn't think you could do it. You've got talent kid – _as much as anyone else here_," the last part she said in a raised voice, and typing resumed at double speed; evidently, people had been listening in. "I'm giving you a chance to see if you know how to use it." I nodded fervently to show that I understood.

"OK – so the interview's at three – when do you want the write up then?"

"My desk at 8am sharp so that I can check for the evening stock."

"OK – length?"

"500 words should do it." Internally, I did a double-take…only 500 words? I'd have to make sure to keep myself writing on a leash… I was more of a Tolkein than a journalist when it came to writing (something I'd have to work on). Seeming to notice my apprehension, the boss said, "Don't worry – editing will handle what you can't."

"Yeah…" I looked at the address of my interviewee, seeing that it was right at the other end of town. In the main office, Mr. Gainsborough (a benefactor of the small Gazette paper – annoying, but it was necessary to keep him happy), was loudly demanding coffee from the receptionist.

"Oh Lord," the boss cast her eyes to the tiled ceiling. "Why me…?" I smirked in sympathetic understanding – the rich man had already expressed his distaste regarding my employment – to my face. "Right you – you'd better get going," my superior advised.

"But, it's only," I looked at the clock, "half one. It won't take that long to get there, 'specially on the scooter," I said.

"Yes, but you'll need to change first…I'd suggest a high neck – and trousers." Her lips were pursed and her tone was disapproving, though not directed at me…at least, I didn't think it was. She hadn't mentioned anything about my clothes before, and I was wearing pretty much the usual: black 'fashion' tights (shaped like cobwebs) with the ankle boots I'd had to beg my mother for, for three months, short denim skirt and a pink v-neck sweater. Standard stuff really…

"O…K…" I murmured, wondering what she was implying.

"Well…" she turned with a regretful sigh towards the main office, "I'll see you tomorrow. Good luck!"

"Same to you," I fired back, glancing meaningfully to her destination. She grimaced, winked, and then turned on her heel. I shook my head, grinning, and then started off towards the front door of the offices, which led out onto the high street.

I'd taken not more than a few steps, before a familiar chuckle made me stop dead. Back peddling, I peered around a potted-plant, to see a grinning and bespectacled young man looking back at me. "'Ello work experience kid," he greeted me, running a hand through his flaming red hair.

"Hi, esteemed coffee boy," I shot back, through without venom. (He was really one of the best journalists at the paper.)

"Where you off to then?" he asked curiously.

"Doing the follow-up on the J.K Rowling story," I told him proudly, ducking under the fronds of the plant so I could see him properly.

"Nice!" he nodded. "Shame about her, wasn't it?" he added sombrely.

"Yeah…I used to love the books when I was little."

"Didn't we all?" he said sagely, lifting his horn-rimmed glasses off and rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Who's the subject? Family, friend?"

"Mr. Potter – the namesake and friend," I answered, after checking the name on the paper. He let out a low whistle of admiration and I flushed for the umpteenth time in so many minutes.

"Impressive stuff, work experience!" I growled good naturedly,

"It's been a month! The least you could do is call me by name, _Rickie_!" I leant on his name forcefully to emphasize the point.

"You _have_ a name?" he feigned disbelief, and I swatted him on the head with my assignment. "All right, all right! Leonie-" I held the paper aloft warningly, "I mean 'Lee'," he amended. "You'd better get going. Have fun. If you get nervous, just remember the trick, OK?" I nodded, smiling tentatively. "Don't worry kid, you'll do fine."

"Hope you're right."

"So do I – I've got ten quid riding on it!" he snorted at my outraged look. "Don't worry, I'll buy you dinner with it." My heart skipped a beat when he gave me a roguish wink, but I managed to right myself quickly,

"I'll hold you to that!" He just laughed, and then urged,

"Right, now, go on you! I need to work!" he shooed me away; I stayed just long enough to whack him on the head again. I fled before he could retaliate. Just before the door to the street swung shut behind me, I heard him declare loudly; "Ah, work experience kids are _so_ cute!" I secretly though the 'esteemed coffee boy' was quite cute as well…

* * *

…I suppose I should really explain things before we get any further.

I'm a college student, name of Leonie Lucis (generally known as 'Lee'). I'm very nearly seventeen, own a purple scooter and want to be a journalist or a professional musician when I'm through with education. My collection of subjects at college reflects these ambitions, seeing as I study a combined English and journalism course and music technology; I also take history and geography because I like them, and the friends of mine that do Latin are trying to teach it to me (with modest success).

For the combined journalism course, the top three students in the year get to do work experience for two months at a local paper. I chose the Gazette because I already knew Rickie worked for it (and I've had a crush on him for what seems like forever…even if he is ten years my senior…heh…) I'm second out of fifty, which isn't too shabby, I suppose!

Mostly, I've been hovering around the office, proofreading, or fixing the various machines. My dad's an engineer, and luckily some of the skills have been passed on. (My mum's a chef, so I also make 'one hell of a coffee' – Rickie's words, not mine). But, now, finally, after a month, I have an outside assignment! As far as I know, Rob (top of the class) hasn't had one yet, so I feel pretty smug…

* * *

At five minutes to three, I drew up outside the formidable double-fronted Victorian house of my interviewee. It was set well back from the road, with slightly neglected ornamental topiary taking up the square of front garden. A tiny fountain tinkled away in the watery sunlight, the water around the edge beginning to freeze in place as the weather grew colder. An old Bentley rested like a great sleeping beast in the drive, its windows dull from lack of attention. Evidently, Mr. Potter didn't get out much…

I shook my head, grinning at my own analogies. Years of too many fantasy novels (including those by Tolkein and Rowling) had turned me into a veritable daydreamer. Inhaling deeply, I told myself to stop being silly, and looked down at the prompts and questions I had jotted down to ask the man, over my lunch-break. I knew that I'd have to stick to safer topics, as he was quite an elderly gentleman (sixty years old or thereabouts); asking a more risqué question could give him a shock. And I didn't want to think about the repercussions of something like that!

From the corner of my eye, I saw the net curtains on one of the first floor windows twitch slightly. Fixing a friendly, yet business-like smile on my face, I made sure the lock on my scooter was firmly in place, before hurrying up the front path to the entrance. I pulled on the old-fashioned bell-pull next to the door, and waited for an answer… It was only when a shadow appeared in the frosted glass that I realised I was still wearing my helmet. Panicking slightly, I ripped the strap open and pulled it off my head. _Stupid! _The door opened, and I was face to face with a smartly dressed man in a suit. Hurriedly, I shuffled my helmet so that it was under my arm, and held out my hand. "Hello there, I'm the reporter from the-"

He didn't accept my hand, though he did glance at it with a quirked eyebrow. "You may come in," he rumbled coolly, stepping out of the way so that I could walk past him and into the warm house. He closed the door behind me with a snap. I jumped, feeling on edge for some reason. "May I take your coat, madam?" His voice reminded me very strongly of the so-called 'English' accents you often hear in American films. Very posh indeed…

"Oh, uh, yes – thanks," I shrugged off my corduroy jacket and handed it to him. He deftly reached up and hung it on the grand coat stand next to the front door.

"If you would like to come this way, please," he bustled off down the corridor, and I had to hurry to keep up. "You may wait here," he indicated to an open door leading off the hallway; I peered in, to see a room that wouldn't have looked out of place in an Austen period drama. "I shall fetch the master of the house – tea?"

"What?" I asked, before I could remember my manners.

"Would you like some tea?" he repeated, sounding immensely bored.

"Oh – yes please, if you're making some," from the corner of my eye, I saw his mouth twitch into the first smile I'd seen him make.

"Do you take sugar?"

"No, just milk thanks."

"Very well – wait here," he ushered me into the room, and then slid the doors so that they were halfway shut, behind me. I paused just in front of the door and looked around. The high ceilings of the house leant grandeur to the room, which was already huge by anyone's standards! The walls had been panelled, and painted eggshell blue, white cornicing edging the ceiling, and a white wainscot around the bottom of the wall. All of the furniture looked like it belonged in an antique store, and I debated over whether or not I was supposed to sit down. I compensated by perching uncomfortably on the arm of an overstuffed sofa.

It was very warm in the house after having been outside for so long, and I wished I'd bothered to go home and get changed as the boss had suggested. _Well, it wouldn't have mattered even if you had, because you forgot your keys **again**_. I frowned, annoyed with myself for being so stupid – this was the second time in a week. It meant I'd have to slouch around in coffee shops until I was sure the parents would be home to let me in. _Ah well, no use crying over split milk and all that crap._ I fanned myself with my notebook, and awaited the return of the butler and the 'master of the house'.

It turned out that I didn't have to wait very long…evidently, I hadn't imagined the curtain twitching, and Mr. Potter already knew of my arrival. The door from the hallway opened once again, and the butler (_he must be the butler, I suppose…) _came into the room, carrying a tea tray. There were two cups on the tray, as well as a fine china teapot, small jug of milk, and a bowl of sugar. Immediately behind him came a well-dressed man of about sixty, though he looked to have aged quite well. Rather than looking old, I decided that he merely looked distinguished (much like Alan Rickman or Bill Nighy. Still charming in their own right.) Unable to stop the ridiculous impulse, I quickly scanned his forehead for some sign…of course, there was nothing there, bar a myriad of wrinkles and laughter lines.

I stood up immediately, heartened by the small smile playing on the man's lips. "Mr. Potter, I presume?" I queried, extending my left hand to shake his. Realising my mistake halfway through, I was about to switch hands, when he grabbed the one I held out, and bought it to his lips. _…OK, that was odd… Now I really do feel like I'm in the middle of a period drama… _Regaining myself, I continued, "I'm Leonie Lucis, and I'd just like to thank you for giving the gazette some of your valuable time." (Internally, I grimaced at my full name. What _had_ my parents been thinking?) He was still holding onto my hand, and I awkwardly fumbled with my right hand for the pen I'd stuffed in the pocket of my skirt.

"Quite all right, quite all right," he assured me, finally letting go of my hand, and gesturing towards the sofa I'd previously perched on. "Would you care to sit? Alfred, pour the tea of you please."

"Yes sir," the butler (now know to me as Alfred), responded. I carefully walked around him (he was preparing the tea on the coffee table in between the two sofas in the room), and then settled on the very edge of the indicated sofa, notepad already on my lap. Mr. Potter remained where he was, that welcoming smile fixed firmly on his face as he watched me sit down. I tried to ignore the prickling sensation that this scrutiny caused – I could see him look me up and down, and the corners of his mouth twitch appreciatively.

"Well, Leonie," he began, easing himself smoothly into the sofa opposite. Before I could stop myself, I corrected him,

"Please – call me Lee."

"Lee," he nodded. "Well, I've no doubt that you have a lot of questions you'd like to ask, but I'd just like to-" There was a sudden hiss, and a large orange cat appeared in the doorway; my interviewee gave a sound of despair, and promptly threw a cushion at the creature. At my shocked expression, he explained, "That's Bandy – he dislikes strangers."

"Oh." I felt my cheeks burn as I realised just how ineloquent that must have sounded. "Erm… Sorry, well, what was that you were saying before Mr. Potter?" It was his turn to correct me,

"Please, call me Harry-"

"Your tea," Albert intoned quietly, handing me a delicate cup made of bone china. I noticed that it was in red and gold, and grinned as I toyed with the idea that they'd purposefully been chosen for their Gryffindor colours. I noticed the butler exchange a meaningful look with Mr. Potter – Harry – and detected a degree of tension between the two. However, after handing the distinguished silver-haired man his cup of tea, the cutler withdrew to the door – he lingered for a moment, and then drew the doors closed.

"Well, yes, as I was saying, I know that you will, of course, have a lot of questions. But, there are certain things that desperately need to be addressed; certain misconceptions that I believe it's my duty to correct." His voice was mild and dry, with a gravelly undertone that made me think of an aged rock-star or similar. Not quite understanding what he was trying to get at, I prompted him,

"Misconceptions you say? Regarding Mrs Rowling, do you mean?" He made a funny little half-laugh at the mention of the recently deceased author's name.

"What doesn't regard her?" he said mysteriously. "Of course its to do with her," he continued, frowning at me. I resisted the urge to fidget under his vibrant green gaze; I'd stare him out. Thankfully, he looked away first. "More precisely, its to do with those _wretched_ stories of hers!" The violent dislike in his voice was tangible, and I shrank back slightly in my chair. "Those bloody stories…" he murmured.

"I was under the impression that you were in some part responsible in inspiring Mrs Rowling to-"

"Yes, yes, everyone knows that old clap-trap," he said, waving his hands dismissively. "But, I did more than inspire that woman, believe you me!" I flushed again as I picked up on the connotations of this statement… Of course, there had been rumours in gossip mags about the questionable friendship between the two, but… To have it confirmed… There was a cheeky grin on his face now, and he said, "Sorry – not meaning to offend young lady, but…well…when you get to my age, there seems little point in beating around the bush."

"Indeed," I agreed passively. I set down my cup on the table between us, as it was beginning to burn my fingers. Curious, I allowed the nib of my pen to hover over the new page in my notebook. "So, you say you want to set the record straight, is that it?" I paraphrased, drawing a little circle to act as a bullet-point.

"That's exactly what I'm saying, yes," he nodded, leaning forwards so that there was less than a foot of space between the two of us. "And, since I've been blessed with such a lovely-looking reporter, I believe I shall enjoy 'setting the record straight' a great deal." I blinked at my piece of paper, peripheral vision giving me sight of the roguish glint in the man's eyes. "Though I do wonder if you're not a little young to already be working? Of course, you're probably just incredibly good." Determined to make a good impression, despite how uncomfortable he was starting to make me, I sat up a little straighter. Crossing my left leg over my right one gave me the perfect surface on which to balance my notebook; pen at the ready, I looked up at him.

"If you'd care to tell me everything, perhaps we can begin to shed some light on these misconceptions?" Internally, I felt proud that I had managed to pronounce everything correctly. Nerves always did terrible things to my power of speech, but I seemed to have things under control for the moment.

"Perhaps we can," he said musingly, leaning back in his sofa again, and sighing as he sank into the sofa cushions. "Now, where to begin?" he studied the ornate ceiling, perhaps looking for inspiration. "Well, I suppose it all goes back to Voldermort really."

"Pardon?" I exclaimed, betraying my shock.

"Voldermort," he repeated patiently. "The Dark Lord. He-who-must-not-be-named. You-know-who. Tom Marvolo Riddle. Voldermort my dear. Surely you'll have heard of him."

"Well, yes – my parents read me the books when I was little, but I don't see what-"

"It has everything to do with it!" he snapped. Holding up my writing hand, I surrendered the point,

"Very well – Voldermort." I wrote the name down on my paper, feeling that it was going to be a very long afternoon. Evidently, Mr. Potter was a crank…or he was pulling my leg…maybe both.

"Yes, it all began with him. I take it you're familiar with the back-story? Regarding my parents, etcetera." I nodded, dumbfounded by the man. He obviously _believed_ what he was saying. _I wonder whether the butler would show me out if he became troublesome? _I hoped so. Mr. Potter may have been silver-haired, but he still had a large frame, and strong, sinewy hands… "Well, of course, that was where this all started for me. This bloody hijinx called my life." I wondered whether I should make some sympathetic comment, but decided silence was probably the best course of action. I didn't want to provoke him…

He paused to take a sip from his cup of tea, and looked over the rim of the cup at me contemplatively. "You look nervous," he observed, setting the fine china down on the table between us. I didn't answer, and averted my eyes to my paper, which so far only bore the name of an evil wizard from a fictional world. Mr. Potter's gaze was intense, clear and unsettling. I knew instinctively that there was no way this could be related to senility on his part. He seemed completely together…

_In which case…_ I composed myself and looked up to meet his jade eyes again. The corners of them crinkled in a wry smile. "I suppose it's only to be expected – you must think me quite mad." I started to protest, but he cut across me, "No, I know what you're thinking. 'He must be going senile in his old age. He's not quite sure where fiction ends and reality begins'. Let me assure you, I'm quite aware of the difference. Those so-called 'stories' may have been embedded with a few fictional points – that ridiculous relationship between Ron and Hermione for instance," he smirked and shook his head, "that was all Jo's idea… Yet, the rest of it was the truth – my story, my life…her fortune."

Slightly disturbed by his adamant stance on the subject, I nonetheless felt it was my duty to put Mr. Potter right. "Now, sir, you know that's not true – they're just stories – very good stories, yes, but stories all the same." He fixed with a look that communicated barely contained fury. Gulping, my eyes once again flickered up to rake his forehead; having expected to once again find it unmarked by anything other than time, I shrieked when I caught sight of a lightning shaped scar. _That was **not** there before, I swear it! _It faded away as I looked at it. "I…I," I spluttered, nerve overcoming me and rendering me incapable of intelligent speech.

He touched his forehead gingerly, and then smoothed his thinning fringe over it. "I do apologise," he breathed, with a hint of anger still in his voice. "It flares now and again; and perhaps it chose the right time for once to do so." I realised that my mouth was open, and promptly snapped it shut, feeling foolish. He titled his head to one side, and regarded me with those piercing eyes. "Speaking of Hermione…you happen to bear quite a resemblance to her you know…"

"R-really?" I asked, momentarily conquering my vocal chords.

"Yes…well, the hair's different – hers was just as bushy and wild as Jo made out…but the colour's right. You'd have to be a little chubbier too; of course…" the cheeky grin from earlier sidled back onto his face. "She always was touchy about her weight, especially in sixth year…" The grin fell away. "But, that's not what matters. What matters is, as I said, setting the record straight. Are you ready to take notes? Of course, it would have been better if you'd had a tape-recorder, but beggars can't be choosers I suppose." At the mention of tape-recorders, I remembered that I had one in the compartment on my scooter.

"Well, as a matter of fact, I do."

"Indeed? Where is it?"

"In my scooter," I pointed my thumb over my shoulder to the window that fronted the property. "I'll just go and-" I had started to rise from my seat. He snapped out one of those large, strong hands, and put in on my forearm. This effectively froze me into place, surprised by the physical contact and the power of the grip.

"No need," he assured me. "Sit down." I did as he commanded, edging deeper into the cushions so as to put more space between us. "Albert!" he called, and the butler immediately burst into the room; he seemed to have predicted what his master was about to ask. In his arms he carried a wooden box about a foot long; this he presented to his master, and then respectfully withdrew to the doorway once more.

The lid of the box was highly polished, but the hinges were blackened with time and screeched as he flipped the lid open. From inside, Mr. Potter retrieved a baton of wood, which I knew, should I measure it, would be eleven inches exactly. He smiled to himself as he twirled the wand (_wand? You're being ridiculous. This is obviously just an act he puts on!) _in his fingers. Then, he clasped it in his right hand, and flicked the end of it. "Accio tape-recorder." Nothing happened, and I raised my eyebrow at him. He just smiled back at me, putting the wand down into the box and closing it once again. "Thank you Albert."

"Very good sir," the butler bowed as he took the box. "Should I open the door?"

"Yes, I think that would be-" there was a tinkling of glass in the hallway, and then something thudded into the doorframe. "Never mind. Just duck." The butler's eyes widened, and he threw himself onto the floor – not a moment too soon either. A split-second later, my tape recorder came hurtling through the air previously occupied by Albert's head. Harry reached up with both hands and plucked it out of the air easily. "There we are." He carefully nudged his cup of tea aside, and deposited the piece of sound-equipment on the small coffee table, buttons pointing towards me. "Whenever you're ready."

I swallowed hard, and stared at the box Albert had dropped in his panic. It had sprung open on contact with the floor, and I could see the wand lying there, dark against the vermilion velvet lining of the box. Curiously, I bent down and picked up the box, staring at the contents in wonder. _(Either that was the best magic trick I've ever seen, or…)_ I didn't finish the thought, worried that I'd be signing away my sanity if I did so. Sceptics like myself don't give in so easily, yet… _How is it possible? _Deciding that the baton of wood must hold the answer, I reached into the box, intending to examine it.

"No, don't!" Mr. Potter exclaimed, but I had already wrapped my fingers around the wand. A surge of warmth ran through my fingers, and a few red and gold sparks fizzled at the tip. The old man, who'd reached out to grab the box and its contents, allowed his arms to drop. "Well I never!" he whistled. "Looks like I'm not the only one with magic in this room." I dropped the wand back into the box and snapped it shut. Then, I thrust it towards him, shaking violently.

"No, there must be another explanation," I muttered defiantly, pulling the sleeves of my sweater so that they covered my hands.

"Only someone with magic could have made that happen," he pointed out kindly, the box resting on his lap. I shook my head, biting my lip and forcing back tears that were pressing against my eyelids. "Are you all right?" he queried, one of those wandering hands now resting on my right knee. "Young lady? …Lee?" I snapped back to reality on hearing my nickname; I sniffed, swept a sleeve across my eyes, and smiled.

"Fine," I said thickly, finding that my sinuses had bunged up. "This is about you, Mr. Potter,"

"Harry."

"Harry. If you're ready, I'll start the tape, and you can tell your story." I sniffed again, and searched around for the tissues I usually kept on my person. A handkerchief was presented to me by Harry, and I took it gratefully. "Thank you." I used it to mop my eyes, and then held it out to him.

"Keep it."

"Thanks."

"Are you sure you're-?"

"I'm _fine,"_ I nodded. He looked as though he wanted to say more on the matter, but stopped himself, for which I was grateful. Instead, he suddenly rose from his seat, and held out a hand to me.

"Here, there's something in the dining room which I think you'll find interesting." I looked doubtfully at the hand, and then at the butler, who had retreated once again to the door. He gave a small nod, and opened the door into the hallway for us. Strangely assured by this signal, I took the hand offered and got to my feet. It was only as my hand met his that I realised I was still shaking – he noticed it as well, and glanced at me with worry. The previous cheeky grin and manner had been replaced with a much gentler and concerned man.

As soon as I was on my own two feet, I tugged my hand back, and then gestured for him to lead the way. He did so, which gave me a chance to pinch the skin on the back of my hand, just to check that I wasn't dreaming. The sharp pain affirmed that I wasn't.

* * *

It was dark in the dining room, with all the drapes drawn across the huge picture windows. The room was just as large and grand as the drawing room, but had a feeling of misuse. Dust lay thick all around us; on the fantastic table in the centre, and the chairs surrounding it; on the writing bureau in the corner; on the mantelpiece of the fire in the corner, and even on the carpet, which threw up little clouds of dust at every step. The master and butler paused before an imposing display cabinet, which was fronted with glass.

As I looked, I realised that light seemed to be coming from the piece of furniture. Taking another couple of steps into the room, I was able to see the contents of the cabinet. It was filled with an assortment of oddities, ranging from crystal balls to what looked like a locket. However, I was fixated on the thing on the very bottom shelf, surrounded by small golden balls with shredded wings. _(Snitches?)_ Alfred was fiddling with a ring of keys, trying them in the lock of the cabinet to try and find the right one.

Whilst he was doing this, Harry came over to me, having realised what I was staring at. Disbelievingly, I asked, "Is that…is that a pensieve?" He nodded,

"Yes it is."

"Oh." Outwardly, I managed to keep calm. Inwardly, I thought that the books' description of a pensieve hadn't done them justice… There was no way you could possibly understand the strange beauty of the memories contained within the basin without having seen them yourself. The way the silver mist of memories danced across the white collection of the archive of remembrance below was mesmerising; I stared and stared, wanting nothing more than to look at that dancing light forevermore. What was it that Mrs Rowling had said in her books? _Like light mad liquid…or wind made solid…_ That was a good way to put it, but still didn't quite convey what it was like…

"There we are sir," the butler murmured, finally pulling the door open. He then stooped down and grabbed the pensieve; it seemed quite heavy, and he struggled to lift it again and allow it to fall with a thud onto the table. This disturbed a huge cloud of dust that enveloped all of us. I spluttered and coughed, waving my hands in order to dispel the cloud of the stuff.

When the dust had settled again, and we'd all stopped coughing, Harry took out the wand again (I hadn't realised he'd bought it with him.) "I trust you know how these things work?"

"Sort of," I nodded, drawing a little closer and leaning to try and see into the bowl of memories. He walked nonchalantly up to it, and put the tip of his wand into the swirling mix; frowning, he began to search for something (at least, that's what I guessed he was doing.)

"Hrm…I'm not sure exactly where to start… I'd never have suspected that… Not since the school was closed… There are so few of us left," he murmured, more to himself than to me. "Ah – perhaps sixth year would be best… I'm sure Ron and Hermione would love someone to clear up all that rubbish about their 'relationship' that Jo put into the sixth book…" Another of those fond looks crossed his face at the mention of their names. I knew there was no one in the world that could fake things like that so effectively.

Feeling resigned, I gave up any hope that this wasn't happening.

"There we are! Right in the first week of term – there's Slughorn, inviting me to a meeting of the Slug club… Hermione looking annoyed…" he snorted at this, and removed his wand from the white mist. "Would you like to come and have a look?"

"Urm…" luckily, my journalist instinct took over at the moment, and I hurried over to peer into the bowl. I was conscious of Mr. Potter standing closely behind me, and felt his cool breath ruffle my hair as he reached down to touch the swirling memories again. I stared, as an image swam into focus.

There was the great hall…just as grand as I'd always imagined, and surprisingly similar to the version portrayed in the movies. Candles hung in the air, their flames flickering in the gloom, and people below were eating.

The view changed to show a teenage boy (about my age) with scruffy black hair, round glasses and a well-known scar talking to a robust older man who was laughing heartily. "There he is, chuckling at my questions again," Harry intoned, nudging the memory slightly with his wand so that the view changed. I blinked in surprise when a girl, who did indeed look quite a bit like me, apart from the bushy hair, eyes and, as Mr. Potter had said, weight, appeared. She was frowning darkly in the direction of the dark-haired boy, a newspaper scrunched in her hands. "And there she is, annoyed that I'm getting all the attention again… Luckily, Ron was still asleep, or else he'd have been glaring at me as well…"

He drew away from me slightly, and the cool air of the room rushed in to meet me. "Bandy, you bloody cat, _get off!_" I turned around, shocked by the sudden screech, and saw that the orange cat from earlier had latched into his trouser leg with its claws. He shook his leg wildly, but the creature wouldn't let go. It hissed and growled, digging its claws further in. Albert rushed over, seeming to appear out of the shadows, and grabbed into the fur of the cat, trying to pull it off. I took a step back, scared of the enraged creature, and stumbled into one of the chairs.

Clumsily, I tried to right myself, and grabbed onto the edge of the table…or at least, I thought it was the edge of the table. However, when what was in my hands began to slide towards me, I realised I'd grabbed onto the pensieve! Panicking, I tried to pull myself upright again, and ended up slumped over the table, hand still on the edge of the pensieve. The two men were still battling with the cat, and looking at the swirling whiteness, I was drawn in once more.

Hypnotised, I slowly drew closer, the field of light spilling over me, strange, comforting…_magical. _I smiled, and then giggled as a strange, tickling sensation erupted down my sides. I felt as though I was falling, and laughed in delight as the world swirled into a mixing pot of vibrant colour. Mr. Potter's voice, deep and rumbling, shouted, "No, stop it!" I tried, I really did; giggling slightly, I drew back, and the colours melted back into place.

But, the pull was so insistent, and everything was so pretty as it mutated into the abnormal.

Delighted, I allowed the penseive to swallow me up, and was only given a moment to panic as everything went black.

Then…nothing.

* * *

Le gasp. _What will our reporter do now? What will she discover and, perhaps more importantly, how on earth is she going to keep that report down to 500 words now?_

_Flames will only serve to encourage me. _Quirks an eyebrow. _If you want to review, then click the pretty button and do so. _


	2. Bickering

**Interview with a boy-who-lived**

_So, in the last chapter, our intrepid reporter was exposed to mad old man who believed that the Harry Potter universe had been based on a true story. Then, he bought out a pensieve and things started to get a little odd. Now to see how she's taking the news that this fiction isn't what she thought it was…_

_Cliches, confusion and consternation to come! (Hurrah for alliteration!)_

* * *

**Chapter two: Bickering**

I drifted slowly back into the waking world, my head throbbing and my back feeling decidedly painful. I must have been sitting badly on my chair at the office again; I always started off the day well – back straight and all that jazz – but I'd soon get distracted and return to the normal teenage slouch… Well, anyway, there it was. My back hurt, and it felt as though I'd visited another of those parties where underage drinking is all but encouraged. Groaning, I deigned to wait a little while to open my eyes – I might very well be sick. Judging by the dim light coming through my eyelids, it wasn't morning yet.

Yawning widely, I stretched; something cold met my hands, and I shivered. _I'm sure I closed the window last night…didn't I? _Perhaps I'd been too drunk…this was one hell of a hangover… In fact…maybe that was why my back hurt so much… _Bet I fell asleep on the floor again – hope Dad doesn't look in on me, or he's going to **kill **__me. _With this delightful prospect in mind, it became obvious that I would, indeed, have to get up, if I wanted to be spared the 'alcohol at _your _age!' talk.

With some trepidation (at the thought that this might not even be _my _room, or my house for that matter), I opened my eyes.

Almost immediately, my worst fears were confirmed. The glow-in-the-dark stars and cheap imitation dream-catcher I'd bought in a craft shop in Wales were gone. So too were the cat-shredded purple curtains, and the window with the dodgy lock. The ceiling was a good three or four times higher than it should be, and made of stone. At least, it looked like stone from here, but I couldn't be sure; it was quite dark…

_Maybe I'm in the church? _But, I was sure they locked it at night nowadays – too much crime… _Well, maybe I'm in **another** church… Maybe I caught the train, staggered off, and somehow found my way in here? _There was a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach. I'd forgotten something. A pretty important something at that, if the wave of nausea threatening to overwhelm me was anything to go on. _Where in the **fuck **am I then? _

I sat up, wincing as my back clicked. With some annoyance, I realised that I'd managed to fall asleep on a flagstone floor, of all things. _I must have been really drunk. Must remind myself to volunteer as driver more often in future… _The image of about five friends piles on the back of my scooter served to amuse me for a moment, but then worry set in again.Looking around a little more, I realised that no, this wasn't a church. Nor was it a state building, art gallery, or museum.

The high ceiling was vaulted in a sort of Gothic style. _Well, OK, so 'Gothic' is the only style I know, and I don't even know what it looks like, so, I could be wrong. It just looks old. _My brain seemed to be working a little too well for me to have a hangover. Everything consisted of the same, dark grey stone (_granite? Basalt?)_ I _should_ have been able to tell, but I'd never found geology a particularly interesting part of the geography course… Candelabra fashioned of some dark metal clung to the walls, the lit candles within them burning with low flames.

All in all, this wasn't what I'd been hoping to see.

It looked like the set for some horror movie for goodness sake!

_Wait a minute…_ I nearly laughed out loud in relief. _Of course! Rickie was going to review that new horror movie and he brought me along! _But, if that was the case, why on earth was I lying on the floor? Surely he wouldn't have let me drink! He was a laid-back guy, but he was also strictly tea-total…something to do with his brother and a motorbike accident… He wouldn't have let me get hammered, would he? _Well, maybe he didn't know… Oh, why can't I bloody remember anything! Did I hit my head? _I felt around for a telltale bump that could explain my odd amnesia, but couldn't find anything.

Frustrated by this point, I scrambled to my feet, feeling a little bit wobbly as I did so. Looking down, I saw that I was wearing the same outfit that I'd worn to the Potter interview; the skirt and sweater and-

_Oh my fucking God. _I blinked down at my boots, a rushing sound in my ears. _It **can't **be – why – that's preposterous! This must be a dream, or a nightmare or something! I can't be in…it's a bloody book for Christ sake! A **book!**_ The idea that this was a dream appealed to me… I often had very lucid dreams; this was probably nothing more than that. The pounding headache and aching back were all part of my overactive imagination…

_Why's your finger bleeding then? _A small voice inquired wheedlingly. _You can't dream blood, can you now? _I didn't know – could you? I checked, and yes, my finger was bleeding. _That bloody **pen**_! I stared at the vermilion liquid welling up from the puncture wound, and felt the nausea rise again, more insistently than before. I'd never been good with blood (this was perhaps one of the reasons why I so adamantly wanted to be a boy when I started sex education at primary school). Deciding that I had more important things to do, I just stuck my finger in my mouth and sucked the blood off. Then, I pulled my finger out again, and held it warily aloft from the rest of my hand, so as not to accidentally brush it.

Curiously, I scanned the room yet again, hoping to find some trace of cameras or trickery. It was still possible that this wasn't real. _Though it certainly looks it. _Light was beginning to rise outside; it spilled through the large, stained glass window in the wall to my left. Beneath this window were two, equally magnificent wooden doors; suits of armour stood to attention at either side. In front of me, a set of steps led downwards into darkness. To my right, a grand staircase led upwards – following the graceful curve of the banister, I could see that they led to many more floors above.

Turning around, I was met with another set of doors, though these were slightly ajar. Curious (and thinking that this could well be the way off set…if it was a set…), I started towards them. The sound of my booted footsteps echoed grandly around the cavernous hall; I half expected people to come running because of the noise. No one came though… I was perfectly alone in this strange, old _('ancient's' more like it!_) place.

When I came to the doors, I peered through to see whether there was anyone there.

It _was_ like looking at a movie set. But, it was like looking at the movie set of a film that had been shot when I was nary more than a twinkle in my parents' eyes. _Harry Potter…_ It looked just like the Great Hall had done. There were four long tables running away from me towards the other end. A raised dais supported another table, with an ornate chair in the centre _(that's where Dumbledore would sit)_, flanked by chairs, which decreased in grandeur the further away from the centre you looked. Above, the sky was a murky pinky-grey, heralding the arrival of dawn.

I choked, and clung onto the edge of the door. _This isn't happening, _I thought, though I wasn't convinced… Not convinced at all. "Well fuck me," I breathed, as an owl fluttered through one of the open windows above, and settled comfortably on the wide windowsill. There was something tied to its leg – probably a letter.

"Pardon me?" a curious voice made me jump, but when I turned around, the person's face was full of amused malice. I say person. I mean ghost.

_Ghost? A **ghost? **What are you on about? There's no such thing as-_

"You shouldn't be saying naughty words like that girlie!" the ghost – _or whatever the hell it is – _said, wagging a translucent finger and grinning madly. "Peeves' ears are burning, yes, flaming hot, see?" **_Peeves!_** I stared, transfixed, as the poltergeist from my favourite series of books turned his head to the side, and indicated translucent, ghostly smoke rising from his red, glowing ears. Suddenly, a shrewd look crossed his face, and he sank lower to peer at me.

"Who are you, girlie?" he asked suspiciously. I tried to answer, but couldn't. _I'm going to be sick… _"I don't believe you're a student. You're a strangie-wangie, aren't you? A spying menace, that's what you are!" Before I could force any words past the huge lump in my throat, he had sped off, shrieking, "Spies! Thieves! Murderers! In the Great Hall – get up you lazy scoundrels!**_ Wake up!_**" There was an assortment of crashes and bangs as he no doubt wrought havoc on everything in his path. My state of paralysis ended abruptly, and I looked around for places to hide.

_Why hide? _I wondered, when I looked again at the doors beneath the stained glass window. _May as well just get out of here!_ With apprehension, I left the safety of the entrance into the Great Hall, and bounded over to the doors. This time, I didn't worry about the noise I made – the pandemonium above served to obliterate the sounds of my footsteps completely.

As soon as I reached the doors, I grabbed the handle of the closest one and turned it viciously. To my relief (and surprise – _surely security was tighter than this in the books?)_ it creaked open. The world beyond was still grey and gloomy; a fine mist hung in the air. It rushed in to meet me, and I shivered at the cold. _However_, _needs must and all that… I have to get out of here! _Assured that I'd made the right choice, I pulled the door open a little more, and made to step down onto the first step, and so begin my journey away from this madness.

There was a yell – I couldn't understand what was said – it wasn't English by any rate…

A burst of pain, followed by a sense of restraint. I toppled forwards, just about managing to twist so that I landed on my side rather than my face – surely my balance wasn't as bad as that, was it? I'd just been walking, and now I was sprawled down the steps! My head, which had been pounding before, now felt as though it was going to split in two down the middle. _Ouch!_ Was the most intelligent (and coherent) thought that sprung to mind. Next, I thought, _I hope my skirt hasn't ridden up…it'd be embarrassing to be seen wearing granny pants…_ Then, I felt a rush of panic as someone's shadow fell over me.

"And what have we here?" they murmured, betraying themselves as male. If I'd been shivering before, now I was positively shuddering; his voice was cool, calculating, and I didn't like it one bit. I found myself tongue-tied again and silently cursed.

As I was facing out across a swathe of grass and heath land (there was the shadow of trees in the near distance), it was possible that he hadn't seen my face yet. Banking on that, I closed my eyes, and hoped that he'd think he'd knocked me out. At least then, I'd have a little more time to think of a feasible alibi for being here.

_But where is '**here'?** There's no such place as Hogwarts, everyone knows that!_

_Do they? _Contested the wheedling voice from earlier. I wondered if I was going mad…hearing voices…

Well, almost everyone. _That Mr. Potter believed it exists…but… He's crazy! According to the press, an alcoholic, chain-smoking pervert with more porn than food in his house! At least…if what I saw piled under the coffee table was anything to go by, anyway…_ I had to stop myself from flinching when the man leant over me; fabric brushed momentarily across my face, and a small sound of surprise reached my ears. "Well…that's…unexpected," the man muttered; some of the iciness had left his tone, but it still made me feel very afraid.

Footsteps pattered on the flagstone floor, and another man huffed, "What is it Severus?" _That'd be…Snape… Potions master. Played by Alan Rickman (how I adored him in that role) in the films…_ I mentally slapped myself for thinking such inconsequential rubbish, and blamed it on the blow to my head. The second man's voice lacked the coolness of the first man, instead sounding almost fatherly with worry. I preferred the second man's voice a great deal.

I felt the potions master step away from me. "This, headmaster," he answered shortly. I guessed he must be indicating towards me at this point. Headmaster? I resisted the urge to peek – I'd always assumed Dumbledore would look just as my favourite great-uncle had… _The movie version didn't look anything like I imagined… What are you doing! Stop thinking about the movies and try and figure out what the **hell** is going on here!_ If this was a prank, it was a good one…

"Oh my," the headmaster replied, sounding shocked.

"She was trying to leave the school, so I had to restrain her," Snape explained.

"She seems to be bleeding," Dumbledore remarked. _I am? Oh…well, no wonder my head hurts so much then…_ "We'd better get her up to the hospital wing."

"Sir, with all due respect, wouldn't it be better to…" the potions master trailed off. "Very well. We will need to keep her under close guard…"

"Indeed," the headmaster agreed at once. "But first, we will need to have Poppy attend to her head, and then, we shall ask her what she's doing here."

"What I'd like to know is how she got in…"

"So would I." One set of footsteps led away – listening hard, I could hear the buzzing of excited and agitated voices from inside. Evidently, Peeves had caused quite a stir…

Another snippet of the language I previously hadn't been able to identify issued from the potions master's mouth. This time, I found I recognised at least one of the spells… "Wingardium Leviosa!" I couldn't force away the image of 'swish and flick', and bit my tongue to stop myself smiling. I felt a strange sensation of weightlessness, with the support of canvas, or some other material, beneath me. Then, I was moving sideways, and rotating at the same time. With my eyes closed, the experience was quite disturbing – I felt as though I'd fall at any moment!

There was a crash as someone shut the door behind us. Hush descended. Even though I couldn't see them, I could feel eyes prickling on my skin. _Fuck, fuck, fuckety fuck!_ I thought, paraphrasing Hugh Grant's eloquence in 'Four Weddings and a Funeral'_…or was it from 'Notting Hill'?_

_What does that matter? Concentrate!_

The problem was, I just couldn't…it was like a physical impossibility. My back ached, my head hurt, I was, apparently, bleeding; and, to top it all off, I had obviously gone quite mad. And I thought running out of coffee this morning was bad… This thought was one that I found ridiculously amusing. I bit my tongue again, hoping to silence the giggle that just begged to be let loose. Intrigued mutterings had started from all those gathered in the entrance hall…

No such luck – my laugh exploded into the world with an unattractive snort, and, before I could even manage to open my eyes, the weightless feeling left me. _Crap._ I plummeted down onto the flagstone floor, and yelled as my head once again collided with hard stone. "Ow!" I managed, eyes snapping open; everything swam through the tears of pain clouding my vision. I made to reach up a hand to rub the back of my head, but found that it was restrained.

Looking down, I saw that I was bound, shoulder to knee, with coarse rope. Looking up again, I blanched when I found a wand levelled to get me right between the eyes. Tentatively, I flicked my eyes up to study the owner of the wand. There was no doubt in my mind who he was… _Severus Snape, Potions Master, genius, git… The greasy black hair, the big nose, that rather terrifying snarl…_ I blinked in disbelief. _And about ten years younger than I placed him…_ My train of thought ground to halt when the brandished wand moved slightly closer. All the chatter had stopped, and I felt many pairs of eyes trained on me.

_Why, oh why did you open your eyes, you **stupid** girl?_ Demanded the wheedling voice, sounding scandalised and annoyed. _You _**_idiot._ **I closed my eyes again, wishing to erase what I'd just seen, and agreed – I was indeed blessed with great idiocy…

Something cool brushed against my forehead, and I opened my eyes once more, startled. The potions master had bent down beside me, and had the back of his wand-free hand pressed against my forehead. I stared at him, utterly confused. "Identify yourself," he whispered, apparently conscious of the huge crowd of people watching. I swallowed, opened my mouth, shut it again, and shook my head. Obviously, my eyes bespoke my desperation, and he didn't press the matter. Unable to tear my eyes away from him, I watched him stand up again, moving as lithely and gracefully as a giant cat.

Once more, he intoned, "Wingardium leviosa," and the feeling of weightlessness enveloped me for a second time. The muttering had started up again; I could see the dark-haired man frown, and was surprised when he addressed me again, so softly that only I would hear. "I would pretend to have fainted again if I were you." He cast a sidelong glance at me, and I manageda tiny nod. Then, I squeezed my eyes tight shut once more, and focused on calming myself down.

The stretcher bore me upwards, and I supposed that he was levitating me up the grand staircase, and towards the hospital wing. Having never taken the time to think about how long it would take to get there, I was surprised when we came to an abrupt stop only a minute or so later. "Snape," a man with a gruff voice greeted, and I felt a shadow pass across me.

"What?" the potions master asked shortly.

"Been attacking school girls again have we?" the first man asked mockingly. Snape let out an exasperated sigh,

"Just shut up and either help, or leave me be." There was a paused, in which the other man must have thought about the proposal.

"This'll probably be the most interesting thing that happens for a while, so I'll come with you."

"Damnit," the potions master cursed, the hint of a sneer in his voice.

"I never knew you cared!" the other man simpered. There was a thud, followed by an exclamation of "Oi!" from the new man, and then the stretcher started moving again. "No need to get violent now Snivellus!"

"So help me Black, if you don't shut up, I will make you!" _Black!_ I had to almost literally force my eyelids to stay closed. _But…hang on a second! If this is Harry's sixth year, then wouldn't he be…wouldn't he be…dead?_ This was just too weird.

Black didn't say anything else during the rest of the trip, and it was only the fact that I could hear two sets of footsteps that told me he was still there. Finally, we began to slow, and I heard a set of doors creak open. A woman cried out, and then a set of footsteps came pattering over floorboards, "Oh my!" she exclaimed, leaning over and pressing a hand to my forehead. "What on earth happened?"

"Nothing – Snivellus was just trying to feast on her blood," Black said off-handedly.

"For the love of Merlin, just go and roll in some filth, _dog_!" the potions master spat.

"Bet you'd like that, wouldn't you?" the other man taunted, parodying flirtation. I had the feeling they were about to come to blows, and was relieved when a serene voice cut through the bickering,

"Severus, I believe Poppy asked you a question?" Dumbledore had entered the room, and again I was straining against the urge to take a peek at what he looked like.

"Yes headmaster…of course," Snape conceded, sounding a little ashamed. Black didn't say anything. "Well, Peeves alerted us to the presence of a stranger in the castle; I was already on my way to catch an early breakfast at the time, so was already close to the entrance hall. When I got there, I found the front doors ajar, and this young lady attempting to flee. So, naturally, I restrained her so that we could ascertain-"

"You restrained her _before_ you knew whether or not she was a threat. For all you knew, she could have been a student out for an early morning walk!" the woman bristled, now applying a moist flannel to my forehead.

"Poppy, I assure you, I knew at once she was no student of ours-"

"But you do admit that you were unsure of the threat posed by this young lady?" the nurse pressed hotly.

"…yes…but…" I'd never have believed it if I hadn't heard it with my own ears; the potions master and suspect for everything that went wrong in Harry Potter's world…stammering?

"So, you restrained what could well be a perfectly innocent young lady, injured her in the process, and you have the cheek to try and claim that this wound on her forehead is not your fault? Is that it?" I felt my heart go out to Snape, even though I didn't even know him. Even_ I_ felt a little intimidated by this woman, and she wasn't shouting at _me._

"Poppy, I think that's enough," the headmaster decided softly. The nurse seemed about to protest, but thought better of it. "Now, if you would just patch up this young lady; hopefully, when she comes around, we will be able to question her."

"Headmaster?" it was the potions master again. For one, horrible moment, I thought he was going to give away the fact that I was, indeed, still conscious. Thankfully, I was wrong. "I do apologise, but, what with the current climate…"

"It's quite all right Severus – I don't believe there's any lasting damage, is there Poppy?"

"No…but I would hasten to remind Severus to be more careful in future." The nurse still sounded angry, but there was the feeling of a smile about her words.

"I believe he'll take that to heart," Dumbledore chuckled, before withdrawing from the room. I was still floating on the stretcher, and wondered what they were planning to do with me next. A sudden movement diagonally into the room made me feel a little queasy, and I held my breath as my stomach clenched in protest to this unexpected shift. Then, almost so gently that I didn't feel it, I was set down on a horizontal surface, which gave slightly under my weight, moulding around my body comfortably. _A bed._ I realised. _So this is **definitely** the hospital wing then._

A strange civility had fallen between the woman and two men. I heard them speaking to one another, sounding strained as they kept their voices light and non-committal. Snape and Poppy discussed potions to heal the wound in my head (I still had no idea how big it was, though I did know it hurt a great deal), and Black dropped in the occasional comment or question on how he could help. I even heard Snape and Black share a joke as Poppy fussed around, wrapping bandages around my head.

I kept my eyes closed throughout, not feeling as though I wanted to answer any questions just yet. The surprise at finding myself in this place was beginning to wear off, as more and more remembered information from the books came to the front of my mind. Nothing seemed new or surprising, considering I knew much of what there was to know from the books themselves. Once the nurse had wrapped my head in bandages, she then lifted my head up, and pressed a glass to my lips. Knowing full well that it was an instinctual reaction to swallow, even in sleep, I drank what she gave me.

Whatever it was, it tasted foul! I frowned and gagged at the flavour, but when she tipped the container to my lips again, I was unable to avoid drinking the stuff. Bit by bit, as she slowly fed me (what I now knew to be a potion), the throbbing pain in my head subsided first to a dull ache, and then to a mere twinge. Evidently, this magical healing liquid was powerful indeed. _Better than morphine,_ I thought, remembering the time when I'd dislocated my knee and had been fed the stuff from a canister in the ambulance. This potion, just like the gas, was making me feel drowsy.

Weakly, I fought against the sleep threatening to consume me. I _needed _to stay awake. I had to figure out how and why I was here, and how I was going to get back. That thought bought me back to the waking world for a few more seconds. Horror dawned in the pit of my stomach. _How am I going to get back home?_ Then, the potion-induced sleep took me off into the land of nod, and I knew no more.

* * *

"_No, don't!" Mr. Potter exclaimed, but I had already wrapped my fingers around the wand. A surge of warmth ran through my fingers, and a few red and gold sparks fizzled at the tip. The old man, who'd reached out to grab the box and its contents, allowed his arms to drop. "Well I never!" he whistled. "Looks like I'm not the only one with magic in this room." I dropped the wand back into the box and snapped it shut. Then, I thrust it towards him, shaking violently. _

_"No, there must be another explanation," I muttered defiantly, pulling the sleeves of my sweater so that they covered my hands…_

I felt sick, as memories flooded into my mind, unbidden. The very idea that I was magical was one that I'd toyed with when I was younger. The world of Harry Potter seemed so very far-removed from my own. Magical, safe, a place where I could potentially be myself, without having to worry about impressions and social faux pas. I'd be so powerful that no one would contend me, but I would be good like Dumbledore, and would use that power to help people.

Of course, like all children, this was just make-believe; it kept me amused, and my parents were glad of it. They were both domineering people in business, using their talents to ensure that I'd never want for anything. I had toys, mountains of them, videos and games, the best nannies that money could buy, designer clothes, and, perhaps, most important of all (at least in my mind), an endless amount of books. So many books that I could lose myself in them for days and days, and hardly dent the stock of them in the dozens of bookcases around the house. They built up my already fruitful imagination, so that I could easily conjure characters and invisible friends from the air, to accompany me on adventures up the stairs or under the bed, in search of treasure!

This was all well and good whilst I was still little, but, as time wore on, I began to realise that these material things would not replace what I truly wanted. And what I wanted was my parents. How selfish, I know, when there are millions in the world who don't have enough to eat, and I'm surrounded by things fit for a princess! But, there it was – a long line of nannies had left me disoriented. Who was I supposed to cling to for comfort after my nightmares? Who could I confide in when the people at school realised my imagination and sheer drive to work singled me out from the rest, and so was shunned for it?

I had no one. Everyone in the books and stories had friends and family, and a happy ending. And I had none of it!

In the mind of a child, this just wouldn't do. So, whenever I could catch my parents at home between trips and meetings, I would demand that they spend time with me. Of course, they'd be tired, and the last thing they'd want to do was amuse a child. This incensed me. How dare they be like that to me! So, after months of boiling anger, punctured only once by my tenth birthday, which both of them made sure to be home for, I finally blew…

My mother had been home for about half an hour; she'd had a cup of tea and was now unpacking, exhausted, after a seventeen hour journey. I walked into my parents' bedroom, and pestered her to talk to me. She just told me to go and play. As per usual. So, the anger that had been collecting like floodwaters, finally burst the banks in a tidal wave of fury. I screamed, long and loud, in the way that only young children seem able to scream. Then, remembering half-snatched words from Harry Potter, and supplicating them with my own 'magic' words, I yelled 'spells' and 'curses' at her.

To my great surprise (and my mother's), the lightbulb in the lamp overhead exploded, sending glass shards everywhere. Then, in the darkness, I saw her go rigid, and then slump heavily on the bed, only to then slide onto the floor, completely still. I stopped screaming, and the silence rang in the room. My nanny (a Dutch woman by the name of Gwenda, who'd been tirelessly trying to teach me both Dutch and French), rushed into the room. She took one look at my mother on the floor, and one look at me, before calmly bending down and shaking my mother.

She wouldn't wake; I joined Gwenda, desperately shaking mother's shoulder and sobbing. "Wake up, wake up!" I cried as I shook her, but it was to no avail.

"Go get me the phone, little Lee," the nanny told me softly. "Your mother has had an accident, and will need an ambulance." Her mere calmness served to calm me as well, and I fled down the stairs to get the phone, and then ran all the way back, carrying the cordless handset with me. She took the set from me, punched in 999, requested an ambulance, and then informed the person on the other end that it was a heart attack.

The ambulance was there in record time, and they managed to resuscitate her in the ambulance. It had been too long though…her brain had been starved of oxygen. She was never the same afterwards…she could still walk, and perform major functions, but she had lost both her sight, and the ability to talk.

I did that to her; I cursed her…

* * *

Abruptly, I awoke, twisted in the sheets and dripping with clammy sweat. Shaking, I stared up at the unfamiliar ceiling with a sinking feeing in my stomach. _Magic…not magic…I **hate** magic!_ I hitched in a breath, forcing myself not to cry in sorrow and guilt over the memory. I'd never had imaginary friends after that day, and I'd never had any adventures either.

Frustrated by the unfairness of it all (and the irony of being sent into a magical world), I kicked out with my legs, so that the sheets flew off onto the floor. Someone had evidently taken my boots off, because my feet were bare, and now cold in the nighttime air. _Wow…I've been asleep for a long time!_ I heaved myself into a sitting position, and drew my legs up so that I could wrap my arms around my knees. My hair was sticking uncomfortably to my forehead, and I brushed it away distractedly.

A great snuffling snort sliced through the quite of the hospital wing. I jumped, and looked to my right, where someone was awakening in the chair next to the bed. It was Severus Snape, lifting his head from where it had been resting on the wall. He blinked a few times, and then his bleary eyes focused on me. Immediately, he seemed fully awake, and withdrew his wand. I felt like laughing; scoffing at him for being scared of a little girl with no magic.

Then I noticed the scorch marks on the few scraps of the curtains left on the other side of the bed. His eyes had flickered to them just before he'd gone for his wand. _Oh shit!_ I thought; things like that happened every once in a while…whenever I had the dream about that day, in fact…

The black-haired man unfolded himself from the chair, and then padded around to the end of the bed, so as to look me in the face. I turned away, flustered under his gaze. I knew I must look awful – sweaty, hair un-brushed, and my make-up was bound to have run due to my tears. I frowned at the singed tatters of the curtains, wishing myself away from this place.

A square of white appeared in the field of my vision, luminescent in the darkness. I turned, to see that the potions master was holding out a handkerchief. _Must be something common to the old days then – most people don't even carry the damn things anymore!_ I didn't accept it, and stubbornly looked away again. I chewed my lip and wrung my hands, wishing he would just get on with it and say something. Yet, he didn't speak; he just stood there, wand pointing vaguely in my direction, other hand limply clutching the handkerchief. He stood there, staring.

"Stop it," I said, mouth speaking without permission from my brain. _Damn it._

"Stop what?" he asked, sounding amused. I wasn't.

"Staring at me."

"I'm not," he answered. Both my eyebrows rose at this.

"You've been looking at me for nearly three minutes, you haven't said anything, and I believe you've only blinked twice."

"Well, it's nice to know you realise I'm still here, considering you refuse to acknowledge me by looking at me," he returned, tone just as icy as mine had been. Confused and slightly enraged, I turned my head again and stared blankly back at him.

"Better?" I muttered.

"Much," he nodded, tone ponderous. "What's your name?" he fired, voice sharp (just as I imagined it would sound when he was teaching.)

"What does it matter, Snape?" I bit back, not feeling in the mood to play his game. I didn't want to be in this stupid place after all. He faltered for a moment, impassive mask slipping away to show surprise because I knew his name. Then, just as quickly as the mask had fallen away, it returned again. A calculating smile was on his face, and his eyes were narrow.

"Clever, very clever – I take it you heard Black call me that." I shrugged, and he lifted his wand a little higher, so that it was levelled at my heart. "I won't ask again; it would be easy enough to get some veritaserum; what's your name?" I knew I was beaten – the idea of being forced that truth-serum for something as paltry as my name didn't seem worth it.

"Lee," I told him, deciding that I would at least annoy him as much as he was annoying me. His mouth shrank to a thin line.

"Full name," he stressed. "I will be able to tell if you're not telling the truth."

"Shouldn't you really wait until Dumbledore's back before you interrogate me?" I queried, guessing that he wasn't supposed to be doing this. He paused again, caught out, but brushed off the surprise. He tried another tactic, and lowered his tone to a persuasive purr,

"Please, I would just like to know your name; mine is Severus Snape."

"I know." He looked ready to shout again, but contained himself.

"Your name; please." It was evident that I couldn't stretch the game out any longer. If I did, it was likely that he'd lose his temper completely… And I didn't want to find out what else he could do with that wand…

"Leonie Lucis," I murmured, averting my eyes to the ruined curtains. He nodded, satisfied.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome," I answered, in spite of myself. A chilly silence descended between us. I made a point of looking at everything _apart_ from him. He, in turn, took to studying me closely. I felt the urge to bend over the edge of the bed, pick up the sheets, and hide underneath them. I wouldn't, of course; that wouldn't look particularly good, or even _normal._ I had the feeling I might want to try and stay on everyone's good side for the moment. _At least until I can get the hell out of here…_

My head started to throb a little bit again, and I wondered if the potion had only been a temporary painkiller. From the corner of my eye, I could see that Snape's face looked calm, and his eyes glazed. Then, I physically recoiled as I felt a presence in my mind that shouldn't have been there. Panicking, I flailed out in my head, striking at it and driving it away. _Leave me **alone!**_ The potions master gasped and his eyes cleared. He took up a duelling stance, and green sparks danced on the tip of his wand.

"_How _did you do _that_?" he demanded, voice shaking. I shook my head, not understanding. A spark flew from the end of his wand and died in the air. I panicked, and scrambled backwards in the bed, only stopping when I was pressed flat against the wall. I searched around for something to defend myself with, but there was nothing there other than a pillow. "How did you shut me out girl? Answer me!" he seemed insane now, and I shook my head helplessly.

"I don't know!"

"Tell me how you did it!" he roared, advancing, the wand still sizzling.

"_I **don't** know_!" I repeated at a scream, instinctively ducking and wrapping my arms over my head. When pain and death didn't follow, I dared to peek up at him. He was looming over me, wand dormant once more. The look on his face was unreadable.

"Evidently, there is more to you than we bargained for," he said musingly. I stayed as I was, ready to duck under my arms again at any moment. "Ah, headmaster," he looked over my head to greet the person entering the room. I wanted to look, but didn't dare move, in case the potions master attacked me.

"Severus," Dumbledore returned his greeting. There were several pairs of footsteps walking towards us, and I wondered who else was there. "Ah, I see our 'stranger' has awakened." I slowly bought my arms down, and relaxed, reasoning that Dumbledore at least wouldn't allow anyone to kill me in cold blood… _Would he?_

* * *

_Dear reviewers (I'm not supposed to thank you, but, feh, I laugh in the face of yet another ffnet ban. Three years here has toughened me against all!) Thank you! _

_I would just like to advise everyone that potions master baiting is not to be tried at home! Lee is a highly trained specialist in this field and knows what she's doing – however, an untrained individual could cause themselves considerable harm. So please, do not try what you've seen today at home and thus keep the lawyers of my back! Thanks folks!_

_Lastly, be in awe of the obligatory 'tragic-past' _snarks _how I do love the cliches. Next chapter - more Bitchy!Snape baiting!_


	3. Crossexamination

**Interview with a boy-who-lived**

_More Snape-baiting to follow. Again, I cannot stress enough how dangerous this sport is; only highly trained professionals (such as Lee) should attempt stunts like the ones recorded below! What revelations will our reporter discover, and what in turn will she reveal to these strange new people, in this strange (and yet hauntingly familiar) world? (I sound like the voice-over to a fifties sitcom…oy…)_

_Note: I do not condemn or bless any ships in the Harry Potter universe. I'll read anything. So, I ask that you respect what ships I do/do not write. (This is all in jest as it is, _smirks_). Thank you._

_

* * *

_

**Chapter three: Cross-examination**

"Miss…" Snape whispered my name to Dumbledore, "Lucis," he repeated softly. "Miss Lucis?" he then addressed me; I could see the great snowy expanse of his beard in the field of my vision. "I'd like to ask you a few questions, if I may?" The shadowy figures of the other wizards in the room (lit only by a few candles far off) were tense, and each held a wand. This was completely at odds with the headmaster's voice and gentle request; he seemed genuinely concerned and intrigued. Risking it, I turned to face the gathered assembly of magical folk.

The man with the snowy beard and half-moon spectacles could be none other than the great Albus Dumbledore. His expression was kindly, though tired, and, somewhere in the back of my awe-struck mind, I realised that he looked nothing like I'd imagined him. I'd always pictured him as a rather more rotund fellow, softer and rounder than this stately figure before me. I decided that, though he wasn't what I'd expected, at the same time, he was. His power was palpable, leadership wrapped up in kindness, goodness and all things wonderful.

Realising that his question needed an answer, I licked my lips, mouth suddenly dry as a desert. "Uh… Yes… I mean, of course you may…sir," I added, feeling that his station warranted some sign of respect on my part. His beard twitched as he smiled, perhaps amused by my stammering.

"Thank you," he inclined his head to me in a semblance of a bow, and I returned the nod with one of my own. "I think more light would be good," there were murmurs of assent from the witches and wizards flanking him. He lifted up his wand hand (which I noticed was blackened and shrivelled), and the dormant candles sprang to life, flames dancing dizzily across the walls and the ceiling. Immediately, the gaggle of magical people sprung into relief. I examined them briefly and covertly, making sure that they didn't see me doing so.

Snape was still closest to the bed, though his wand was now safely hidden again. His black hair shimmered in the flickering light, and his eyes were shadowed and sunken, glittering from beneath frowning brows. Next to him, Dumbledore looked like an angel or saint of some kind, regarding the rest of us with benevolent, twinkling eyes. Then, there were the rest of them – six in total.

Two men were standing close together, hands brushing delicately, tenderly, for just a brief moment. The one in front had well-kept black hair, which reached to his shoulders in a waving waterfall. He held himself with the ease of someone who knows their own strength. Dark eyes smiled in a curious face, and I looked away before those eyes could seek mine out. The other man was slightly shorter and a good deal thinner than the other, with a pale, lined face. His hair was light brown, greying at the temples and with streaks of silver throughout. The robes he wore were patched, and the cuffs of his sleeves frayed. It was immediately obvious who these two must be, and I thought, _Well, looks like there are some 'shippers' out there who are going to be very pleased when they find this out! _

_That's if I ever get back, of course…_

Behind the two men stood a woman with a heart-shaped face and bubble-gum pink hair. She was looking at the prematurely grey Lupin with fondness, though quickly snapped her eyes away from him and returned her attention to what was going on around her. _Tonks,_ I realised, as she scrunched up her face and made her hair a few shades darker, so that it was now a brilliant fuschia. It seemed to be a nervous habit, because she shuffled slightly afterwards, looking flushed and uncomfortable with the situation.

Next to Tonks was a stern-looking older woman with her black hair drawn back in a loose bun. She was clad in a tartan dressing gown, and was at the moment polishing her glasses with the cord at the waist. _McGonagall. _It was odd to put names to people I'd never met before in my life… Though, I suppose, in a way, you could say I had met them; the books had introduced me, and millions like me, to these people…

The last two characters in the room were unmistakeable; the man nearest the door was gigantic! His bushy black hair and beard served to make him look strange and wild in the candlelight, with beetle-like eyes peering genially out at the world. Next to him, looking for all the world like an animated gargoyle, was a man with strange eyes. One was looking steadily to Dumbledore, warm and brown; the other, bright blue, was spinning crazily, taking in everything at once. I had the horrible feeling that the magical eye had come to rest on me, and quickly looked away, shuddering.

These observations had only taken a few short seconds, though it now felt like hours since anyone had last spoken. I looked to Dumbledore, wondering what was going to come next. I was surprised to see that he was still smiling; surely, in times such as these, he would be a little more worried! I'd managed to get into the castle without being detected – shouldn't that have sent them all crazy with worry?

_Then again, perhaps he already knows how you arrived…_ It didn't seem as far-fetched as all that, as I looked into that wise face. _He was painted as very nearly omnipotent after all… And that idea had to be planted in some truth, surely? _Curiously, I made eye contact with the headmaster, and saw that his blue eyes did indeed twinkle. "Now, first of all, let me introduce myself," he said – quickly, I said,

"Oh, there's no need, I already know who you-"

"Hush girl!" Snape hissed, frowning at me, and then nodding at the headmaster to continue. The older man just surveyed me, those blue eyes still twinkling.

"Did you perhaps see me on a chocolate frog card, or something similar?" he inquired softly.

"Uh…" I shrugged, unsure of quite how to tell him I'd read about him in a series of books I'd suspected to be purely fictional.

"Ah, no matter – I still think a proper introduction would be good." He held out his left hand, which still looked alive, and I felt glad that I could at least use my strongest hand to shake his. "I am Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of this school."

"Leonie Lucis, urm, and not quite sure how I got here," I emphasised the last part as heavily as I dared, casting a nervous glance at Moody, who had taken a clattering step forwards onto his wooden leg. The grizzled ex-auror didn't say anything, but both standard and magical eye were trained on me with unnerving intensity.

"Pleased to meet you," the headmaster relinquished my hand, and then took a step back, his smile falling a little. "You have no idea at all as to how you came to be here?" there was a hint of amused disbelief in his voice; I didn't smile. The other magical folk in the room were staring at the two of us at the centre, and I felt my skin prickle, face flushing hotly in the cool ward. I shook my head, eyes averted, deciding that he probably wouldn't believe the thing about the penseive anyway…

"Miss Lucis, I would suggest telling the truth," the potions master interjected, those cool eyes gazing unseeingly at me. I gritted my teeth and pushed away whatever of him had managed to creep into my mind. I looked back to the headmaster, and saw that all traces of the smile were gone – apart from in the eyes…they still retained some sort of friendly light. Moody took another few clunking steps forwards, and I saw that he had his wand in his hand.

"Alastor," Albus murmured pleasantly, casting the gruesome man a warning look. "Calm yourself."

"She could be a spy Albus," Moody growled, jabbing the wand towards me to emphasize the point. "I say we just give her veritaserum and be done!"

"I concur," the dark-haired potions master next to me nodded, using his left hand (the right still loosely clutching his wand) to sweep his hair behind his ear. I watched the action with interest, taking note the delicacy with which he moved. _Probably comes from being such a great potions master… If only he weren't such a **git. **_

"Now, there's no need t' go t' extremes!" Hagrid suddenly boomed, hurrying forwards. I had the bizarre image that part of the shadowy wall had come to life, and was moving towards me. I shook myself mentally, and tried to remain as innocent looking as possible, as I watched the wizards argue over my fate. McGonagall caught hold of Hagrid's tree-trunk-like lower arm, and held him back from the centre of affairs. She shook her head sternly, and he paused next to her, beetle black eyes peering at me.

Sadly, their attention returned to me soon enough. "I'll ask again – how did you get here?" Dumbledore queried, the eyes now cold. I shivered slightly, looked around at the gathered assembly, and wished to be back home in my own bed.

"You wouldn't believe me," I said hopelessly.

"How do you know that?" the twinkle was back. I felt a little better…though not much.

"Because how I got here is ridiculous."

"Albus, she's stalling!" Moody said loudly, glowering at me suspiciously. I stared him out (God only knows how I had the bottle), and finally both eyes dropped from mine.

"If you think me a spy for Voldermort-" There were loud intakes of breath from the majority of the room – only the headmaster seemed to be unaffected by the mention of the dark lord's name. "Sorry," I amended quickly. _Damn it! Shouldn't have done that!_ "I mean, if you think I'm spying for you-know-who, why don't you just say so, so I can tell you that you're all mad? Why'd he send along someone who has no idea about magic?" Snape immediately fell upon my words,

"'No idea about magic'?" he sneered. Then, he walked over to the singed remains of the curtains around my bed, and indicated them so that the others looked. "Then how do you explain this?"

"I…" I shook my head. "I can't," I ended softly, shoulders slumping. I looked down at my lap, twisting my hands together nervously. Feeling that I wasn't being taken seriously, I said, "Really, I _don't_ know! All I know is that I woke up in your entrance hall thing, I have no idea how I got there, and then _he_," I pointed at the potions master with venom, "cursed me or something, so I fell over and cut my head open. Other than that, I can't tell you anything, because I _don't_ know!" Somewhere along the way, I'd raised my voice, so that by the end, it rang around the vaulted ceiling for a good three seconds after I'd finished speaking.

When the echo finally died away, footsteps sounded from the other end of the infirmary from the door to the stairs. Everyone but Snape and Moody turned to look; Madame Pomfrey was hurrying towards us, looking harassed. "Really, headmaster, I must protest!" she huffed as she drew to a stop before us. "This girl isn't fully recovered!"

"This girl is dangerous," Mad-eye rumbled.

"I am _not_!" I said indignantly, before I could stop myself. I could see Black grinning to Lupin at this, and flushed. "Well, I'm not," I added lamely, bringing up a hand to massage my temple – I encountered the mass of bandages again, and groaned as I accidentally brushed the tender wound.

"What is it?" the medi-witch suddenly swooped down on me, pushing the other teachers out of the way. I jerked backwards instinctively, and whacked my head hard on the wall. "Oh dear!" she exclaimed, reaching out and grabbing my shoulders. "Are you all right?"

"Poppy," Snape began warningly. She rounded on him and the other teachers voraciously.

"I know you think you have work to do, but so do I! And my first concern is to make sure people are in good health!" the last part was directed partly to the headmaster, and partly to the hook-nosed git, who had smirked when I hit my head. "Dear?" she turned back to me. "Didn't hurt yourself too much there, did you?"

"Nah," I answered, managing a shaky smile. "I'm all right – this hurts a bit though – you know, where I fell on my head because _someone_ cursed me." There was a definite chortle from Black at this.

"I have already explained-"

"No need to worry about it now, Severus," the headmaster assured him. Snape looked as though he wanted to say more, but kept his thoughts to himself. "Poppy, I apologise, but its necessary to do this."

"But, headmaster-"

"Poppy, please."

"…all right… Just…keep certain wand-happy people out of my hospital wing in future," she glanced obviously to Moody and Snape, which made me grin properly. "I'll go back to bed."

"Good night," the headmaster smiled.

"Good night," she answered, retreating back towards the other end of the ward. I felt afraid as her comforting, bustling form left.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind the nurse, Dumbledore had rounded on me again. He fixed me with that penetrating azure stare, and said, quite simply, "I don't believe you to be a spy, no. But I do find it strange that you don't know how you came to be here… Are you sure you recall nothing?" The question sounded so innocent and harmless… _But my answer will sound so contrived and stupid. _

"I…uh-" I looked around at the gathering of witches and wizards, feeling crowded and threatened. "I do have an idea of how I got here, but… I – I don't know – could I tell you…privately?" As I'd suspected, there was immediate uproar. Moody and Snape immediately jumped in to advise the headmaster against this dangerous course of action. McGonagall said that she would stay with Dumbledore as a guard. Tonks joined Hagrid in advocating my innocence (I took an immediate shine to the both of them), and Lupin and Black remained calmly out of the argument.

Looking over to the two men, I locked eyes with the dark-haired animagus. He gave me a sympathetic smile, and nodded to the arguing gaggle of magical folk. The corners of my mouth twitched in answer, to which he winked. _Squee,_ was the only thought that managed to run through my head at that point. Then, I noticed that Lupin was using his shoulder as a convenient leaning post…and taking advantage of his position by blowing into the ex-convict's ear. _Damnit! Why are all the good ones gay? _For some reason, the magnitude of the situation seemed to have lessened now that I realised I wasn't about to be killed. Curiosity (and teenage hormones) had overtaken fear once more.

When the arguing stopped abruptly, I was shocked, and blinked up at the headmaster as he bent down a little so as to look me in the eye. "Professor McGonagall," he indicated the stern witch, "and myself will remain here as you explain how you got here. The others will wait outside." I nodded, gulping as I noticed the mutinous looks on both Snape's and Moody's faces. The others left without protest, murmuring amongst themselves and casting me curious glances as they bustled out of the infirmary. As soon as the door closed behind them, I looked at the remaining two professors, and attempted a smile. I aborted it halfway through, as I felt a wave of nausea wash over me.

Bile filled my mouth and I grimaced, clamping both hands over my face and squeezing my eyes tight shut as I fought off the sickness. I swallowed, the foul liquid burning my throat as it went back down; something cool nudged against my hand. Opening my eyes, I saw that the Gryffindor head of house was proffering a glass of water. I accepted it with a grateful nod, and gulped it down. Utter bliss. The cool liquid soothed my raw throat, and took my attention away from my aching head for a delightful moment.

"In your own time," the headmaster prompted, drawing up a chair, and conjuring another one from the air for the witch to sit on. I took one last swig from the glass, and swirled the water around in my mouth before swallowing. Then, inhaling deeply, I sat up straight, and after a moment to try and figure out my explanation, I began.

"Well, you see, I'm from…well…I think I must be from the future, I suppose." McGonagall's eyebrows crept up her forehead. "And, well…from…uh…'my time' I suppose you'd call it… Well, there's a series of books, all about a boy called Harry Potter," both professors exchanged meaningful glances. "They were really popular…I read most of them…well, apart from the last one, I got too busy and never finished the series…" _I have the feeling I'm going to regret not reading that book pretty soon! _"They were written by a woman called Joanna Rowling, and everyone believed them to be fiction – magic and witches and wizards aren't…well…people don't believe in it."

"Most muggles don't," McGonagall pointed out. I just nodded meekly.

"Yes, well… I didn't either. I thought the whole thing had been made up. Of course, I did make weird things happen from time to time," I indicated the singed curtain rail with a wry smile. "But, well, they were just weird things – funny coincidences – that sort of thing," I shrugged. Dumbledore was nodding, a smile playing about his lips and making his beard twitch. "Then, I started working at the local paper," the witch seemed about to interrupt, but the headmaster quelled her questions with a wave of his hand. "I started work there, and got an interview with a Mr. Harry Potter, regarding the series…people always thought he was Rowling's inspiration… They never knew how right they were…" I trailed off, and sighed heavily.

"Go on," the headmaster whispered kindly.

"Well, as I said, I had an interview with him. He immediately started to try and convince me that Hogwarts was real, that witches and wizards were strolling around without my notice, and that the books were based on truth. Of course, I thought he was mad…he's quite old now," I said, which made the Gryffindor witch's mouth drop open into a small 'o' of surprise. "But, then, he showed me his wand, and a penseive, and then… I don't know…it pulled me in I suppose… And then I was here… That's it."

McGonagall looked at Dumbledore hopelessly, brow furrowed. "How?" she asked, that one word more eloquent than a thousand more in its place would have been. "Surely not – a time-turner perhaps, but not…"

"Minerva, you're forgetting the major component that makes a penseive work," the headmaster informed her softly. "They are able to store memories, yes, but they also work on the same precedent as a time turner when it comes to rifling through the backlog of memories. I'm not saying that this is what happened, but it's possible that it malfunctioned, and acted as an actual time turner on this occasion."

"But how would that have happened?" I asked, leaning forwards, eager for an answer. I'd been puzzling over my entrance to this place ever since I'd been questioned about it, and I was desperate for some sort of answer. I was disappointed when the supposedly omnipotent wizard just shook his head, half-moon spectacles flashing in the candlelight.

"I'm afraid I don't know, my dear."

"…Do you have any idea as to how I can get back?" Neither of them would meet my eye. "Surely, there must be some sort of reversal spell, or something…right…?" I pushed desperately, now actually sliding off the bed and moving towards them. At that moment, the door exploded inwards, and in came Moody and Snape, both sending curses flying towards me. I panicked, yelled, and did the first thing I could think of – namely dropping to the floor and rolling under the bed. "Fucking hell, cut that out!" I screeched as the spells crashed into the walls and made the stone crumble. I winced. _If those had hit me…_

"Severus, Alastor, for goodness sake, what do you think you're doing?" McGonagall bristled – I could only see her slippered feet from where I lay. She had stood up, and stamped one of her feet indignantly.

"Put your wands away," the headmaster ordered calmly. "There'll be no need for any more of that; Miss Lucis poses no threat."

"No threat?" Moody spluttered, "She was about to attack the two of you!"

"Alastor, just because you think everyone's out to get you, doesn't necessarily make it true!" McGonagall hissed scathingly, plonking back down onto her seat. Cautiously, I shuffled across the floor so that my head was sticking out from under the bed, on the side that faced away from the door. The stern witch caught sight of me, and gave me a tight-lipped smile. "It's all right young lady – I think the fools have the message." I took the cue and scrambled to my feet, keeping my eyes on the two men who'd just attacked me warily. They'd put their wands away, but both looked as though they'd be only too happy to strangle me with their bare hands.

The other door (through which Madame Pomfrey had retreated only fifteen or so minutes ago, burst open as well. The nurse stormed in with a murderous look. She took in the damaged wall, me standing there shivering, and the four professors with a frown. Then, her eyes came back to me, and I saw horror spreading over her face. (The door through which Moody and Snape had come had also admitted the other magical folk who'd been there before.) Looking around, I saw that all of them now bore the same looks of horror and shock. "What?" I asked, reaching up a hand, intending to scratch the back of my neck, as I often did when I was nervous.

My hands encountered something wet and sticky and _warm. _I gingerly bought my hand away from my neck, and stared at it. My fingers were coated with a thick, burgundy liquid, which slowly oozed down from the fingertips and towards my palm, staining the skin red along the way. I used both hands now, to try and find the source of the blood. "Oh God, oh god, oh god," I muttered, suddenly feeling woozy. I swayed, and reached out to catch the edge of the bed; someone was already there, steadying me. "Blood…oh god," I said again, staring at the crumpled bedcovers and trying to focus.

"Shh, it's all right dear, we'll have you patched up in a bit-"

"She must have done it when she fell."

"If it was one of your curses, I'll murder you myself!"

"It wasn't – she's just a clumsy little-"

"Severus!"

The voices were disjointed and didn't seem to make all that much sense. I closed my eyes as the colours of the infirmary became too intense. The inside of my eyelids were red – _just like…oh god, no, the blood, no! _I snapped my eyes open again, and was presented with the rim of a glass bottle, in which a vile smelling purple liquid rested. "Drink this dear – Albus, please, would you just leave?"

"Of course Poppy." Many footsteps left the hospital wing, and a door was closed softly. A firm, gentle hand found my upper arm, and helped me back into the bed. The purple liquid was tipped against my lips until I had to give in and drink the damn stuff. I closed my eyes again and lay back obediently as a hand pressed down on my shoulder. Then, the nurse gently and carefully started to tend to my head wound, sensitive to the small whimpers of pain I let out when the painkiller wore off, and giving me more of the potion to calm me down again.

Eventually, it was done; evidently, Rowling's stories about magical potions and spells to immediately heal people were entirely fictional. It had taken the better part of half an hour for the woman to unwrap my head, clean the wound, cover in it gauze, and then wrap it up again. By the time she was done, I felt exhausted again, ill, and homesick. Despairing, and hoping that I'd wake up back in my own bed, I drifted off to sleep.

* * *

A shaft of sunlight was slowly creeping its way up the bed. The infirmary was quiet in the early morning light, and I seemed to be the only patient – indeed, the only person – in the room. I'd been awake for over an hour, just watching that beam of light spring into life, and crawl steadily towards me. Whatever Madame Pomfrey had given me the night before made me feel drowsy still, and I couldn't keep hold of any of the fleeting thoughts in my head. So far, all I'd managed to think about was the fact that I really fancied a good, hot shower right about now. My hair was beginning to look worse for wear…the rest of me probably was as well… And what was I going to do about clothes? I'd been wearing the same set for over two days now…

So far, I hadn't started panicking. My throbbing head and drowsy body kept my mind more than occupied…as did a rather pressing need… I shuffled uncomfortably, feeling bloated and as though I might be sick. _I wonder whether I'm allowed to just get up? _Seeing as there was no one around…_maybe I can risk it…?_

Gingerly, wary of the dizziness bought on by sudden movements, I clambered out of the bed. The cold stone floor bit into my feet – when I stepped into the band of light, I sound the cobbles pleasantly warmed. I lingered for a moment, half in shadow, the lower part of my body warmed by the sun. _Which door? _There were two (one at either end). _Perhaps I should go and ask Pomfrey? _The clock on the wall began to chime the hour, in a tinny, high-pitched whine – six. _Or maybe not…_ It was far too early!

So, I went for the other door, going from light to dark, warm to cold, as I waked past the windows through which the dawn shone. It didn't take long to reach the door – somewhere in my head, alarm bells were ringing, telling me this was _too_ easy – surely they'd still be guarding me, wouldn't they?

A veteran of adventure, horror and spy films, I checked the door before I touched it. Looking around, I found a bedpan (clean, thankfully) close to hand. I picked it up and hefted it over to the door. Then, eyes screwed up and legs ready to flee danger, I touched the metal to the wood, fully expecting a load of sparks and noise.

Nothing. I was somewhat disappointed.

The fact that I was unharmed did cheer me up though. I put the bedpan back, and then went to the door and yanked it open. "OH!" a girl shrieked, nearly walking into me as she reached out for a door that was no longer there. "Sorry about that!" she then said, reeling backwards and standing aside so I could go through.

I stared at her for a moment, dumbfounded. I had no doubt in my mind as to who this was, and yet…she looked dishevelled. Her bushy brown hair was the epitome of bed-head sheek, she had last night's makeup smeared across her face, and was wearing an impossibly short and tight lace nightdress. Then, I shook my disbelief off, and hastily put on a French accent. "Oh, no 'arm done. May I ask where the nearest bathroom is?"

She blinked, smiled, and then pointed to the spiral staircase behind her. "Just go down there, and it'll be the first door you come to on the right." She hiccupped suddenly, and then giggled – I could smell alcohol and cigarettes on her breath.

"Merci," I smiled, and then stepped out past her onto the stairs.

"Miss Granger! What have I told you?" Madame Pomfrey exclaimed. I froze and looked over my shoulder – the nurse was glaring at the Gryffindor witch with disapproval. Her eyes shifted to me for a moment, and I answered her unasked question,

"Just going to the toilet."

"Hey, you're not French anymore!" Hermione pointed out in disbelief, before dissolving into giggles once more. The nurse nodded at me to go, and then rounded on the other girl.

"Who was it this time?" she asked resignedly.

"Victor, visiting, and…" the younger witch dropped her voice, and I heard no more until Pomfrey loudly diagnosed,

"So, the morning-after potion…_again_!" My eyebrows launched to the top of my forehead in disbelief. _Hermione the goody-two shoes? What the _hell_ is going on!_

* * *

Thankfully, I found the bathroom quickly and was able to rid myself of my discomfort. As I was pulling my tights back on, I managed to severely ladder the left leg, and cursed loudly. When I stepped out of the cubicle, the mirror chided me reproachfully, "No need to be rude." I stuck my tongue out at it childishly, and the reflective surface immediately turned opaque, so I could see nothing in it. I shook my head, wondering at the oddness of an over-sensitive mirror, when the mirror next to it reassured me in a pleasantly gruff voice,

"Ah, don't mind him, he's just such a drama queen. You come here duckie and take a peek if you need to." I blinked, and walked over to the other mirror, finding the whole thing a little too surreal for my liking. However, remembering my manners, I smiled,

"Thanks."

"No problems love, it's me job after all!" This made me smile properly. I turned on one of the taps in the sink below the still reflective mirror, and splashed my face with the cold water. When I flipped my head up to check my appearance, I nearly screamed in shock. Somehow, I seemed to have acquired an extra few years of life in the last two days. "What is it dea- OH! Ferdinand, you old queen, stop it!" The two mirrors shuddered slightly, the blackened one clattering against the wall, and my reflection returned to the one that I knew from early mornings.

I stared at myself blearily, wondering if the wounds on my head would leave scars… My head was still swathed in bandages – I looked a bit like a Sheikh or some other turban-wearing leader… I tugged on the bandages, winced, and decided to leave them alone for now. Then, I stuck out my tongue, feeling that weird furry feeling you only get when you haven't brushed your teeth for a while. To try and get rid of it, I leant down and drank from the tap (the first mirror made some comment about 'manners', and was hushed by the second). It helped, but only a little.

I looked into the mirror again, feeling glum. "What's wrong petal?" the mirror asked. I decided the accent sounded as though it belonged to Yorkshire…or maybe somewhere further north.

"Nothing," I answered, lifting my face a little to try and convince it.

"Ah, nonsense, you look gloomy dear – you can tell me. It's not like anyone uses this bathroom that much anymore…"

"Apart from that Slytherin and his Gryffindor wh-"

"_Madame!"_ Both mirrors bellowed at once – reflected within both of them was a painting, which had just been of an empty armchair when I came in. Now, there was a shrewd looking young woman sitting there, stroking a painted cat that nudged her hand and purred loudly. She was tall and slender, with vibrant red curls framing a pale face that could only be described as beautiful. Her eyes were dark brown and cool, and she was wearing robes of deepest, darkest black. The chair in which she sat was royal blue, and the drapes behind her were richly embroidered white silk.

"Really, you're worse than the students sometimes!" the first mirror huffed, sounding scandalised.

"Well, I am privy to their day-to-day foibles, so no wonder," she answered airily. "However, I have simply no idea who you are. Apparently you turned up a couple of days ago…though Cadagon said that, and we all know how unreliable _he_ is." All three made sounds of assent. I had started off towards the door, and stopped abruptly when the woman called, "Well, have you a name, or haven't you?"

"Leonie," I answered. "And I need to get back up to the…" I pointed upwards, which seemed to explain exactly what I meant. The woman nodded, watching my every move intently. "Urm…right, well…bye!" I fled the bathroom, severely creeped out. From the corner of my eye, I thought I saw a flash of movement in a portrait of a wintry heath landscape – when I turned to look, there was nothing other than the wind moving through the heather. I shivered, and started back up the staircase to the hospital wing.

"Hey, Hermioninny!" a man called, and an arm was flung around my neck in an altogether too familiar manner. I flinched, and looked over to the dark-haired young man with the hooked nose who was standing closely next to me. He blinked at me, and then sprang away from me as though I had something contagious. "Oh! I am so sorry, I thought you were…" he broke off, and looked at the stairs up to the hospital. "She must be up there," he murmured to himself, before literally throwing himself at the stairs and disappearing up them at high speed.

I just shook my head, rolled my shoulders, and then followed him up the stairs at a more sedate pace. By the time I was halfway up the stairs, I could hear shouts ringing from the stone walls. Then, there was the sound of a loud crash – as I rounded the corner, I spied shards of the bedpan I'd used earlier lying on the floor. "Hermioninny, please, stop this!" the young man implored, ducking out of the way of another bedpan. I stayed where I was, wary of the sharp shards littering the floor around me.

"Ask me to go back to Bulgaria with you, will you?" the young witch fumed, threateningly waving around a third bedpan. The nurse was hovering out of range, watching the two fight with round eyes. "Don't you realise how _(hic)_ important this school year is? I can't just up and leave, you bloody-" Whilst she'd been distracted, Victor had managed to get close enough to prise the projectile from her hands. She stared at her empty hand in wonder, and then looked up at him with shining eyes. "Oh, Victor," she said lamely, falling into his open arms and burying her face into his wide chest.

_O…K… So she's with Victor…then why did Pomfrey ask who it…_ I shook my head, not even wanting to _go_ there in my mind. _Eww._ The two youths embraced one another tightly, and Madame Pomfrey hurried over to me – I was overjoyed to see that she was clutching my boots in her hands. "I just got an owl from Professor Dumbledore – he wants to see you in his office immediately." She shoved my boots as me. I took them, and asked,

"What does he want to see me about?"

"I'm not sure dear, but we'll need to hurry along – the owl came just after you went down."

"You're coming with me?" I was surprised. She just smiled at me as though I were a bit simple in the head,

"Well, unless you happen to already know the way…?"

"Ah…good point," I nodded, plonking down on the top step and quickly pulling my boots on. After I'd zipped them up, I got to my feet, and started clopping down the stairs after the medi-witch.

* * *

_Bah, that'll do, right? Again, I'm not being serious. The idea of goody-two-shoes Hermione being a bit of a hussy just happened to amuse me no end, so I thought I'd get that in. And, well, bitchy!Snape. What more can I say? _Sighs in fangirlish bliss. _Oh, how I do 3 that man. Squee!_

_Yeah, well, not much happened that chapter, did it? Though I do love the camp mirrors, don't you? No? Ah well, just me then!Don't worry, there'll be more hilarity coming along soon – perhaps even some man-kissing. _Grins._ Because no story of mine is ever quite complete without some man-kissing. _

_I'm such a dirty-minded author, aren't I? Ah well, it makes it all that much more fun. _

_Soda x _


	4. Deliberation

**Interview with a boy-who-lived**

_Right, so…last chapter we saw Lee being beaten up by two fully grown men (I hope Snape and Mad-Eye are ashamed of themselves!), meeting a couple of really camp mirrors, getting creeped out by a lady in a painting, and being hugged by a Bulgarian quidditch star. And if that wasn't weird enough for you, try this chapter on for size! Man-kissing very likely, indeed, most probably imminent (purely for gratuitous reasons, and little to do with the main plot)._

* * *

**_Chapter four: Deliberation_**

After what seemed like forever and a day of hurrying after the medi-witch (my feet began to hurt just as we reached the bottom of the spiral staircase down from the hospital wing, and by the time we slowed, felt as though they were on fire.) Considering I was now in a magical world, I looked down apprehensively, lest my feet actually _were_ on fire. Needless to say, they weren't. _Talk about paranoia. _I caught movement in the corner of my vision, and turned to see a portrait of grazing sheep on the wall – nothing much wrong with that… _But, I'm sure I…_ Madame Pomfrey was busy fumbling in her dressing gown for something, so I went closer to the picture to study it.

Squinting at the bottom left hand corner, I could see a tiny scrap of vivid blue against the lush, green grass. The breeze running through the picture picked it up, and whirled it into the picture – it was a length of ribbon. I watched it, trying to fathom why this seemed important. Another eddy twirled the length of sapphire-coloured velvet around in a tight circle, and then dropped it on the head of one of the sheep, which bleated and shook it off again.

Since nothing much seemed to be happening in the picture, I turned back to the witch, who was now holding a crumpled scrap of paper in one hand, and running the forefinger of her other hand along it. I could see two columns of writing, and guessed that they must be a list of passwords. _But didn't Neville get into trouble for writing them down at one point?_ I again wondered at the lack of tight security, considering there was supposedly a war on… "Aha, here we are," she murmured to herself, tucking the crumpled page back into her dressing gown pocket, and laying her wand on the head of the grotesque stone gargoyle before her.

Another flash of movement caught my attention, and this time I turned my head immediately; just in time to see a pale, slender hand with tapered fingers, reach into the picture and pluck up the ribbon. I stared, urging the owner of that hand to come into the picture – there were no other pictures close enough for me to see, and I cursed when Pomfrey beckoned me forwards to a huge opening in the wall. I had the feeling I was being closely watched, and I didn't like it, not one bit!

The sensation of stepping onto the moving, spiral staircase up to _(oh Lord, I can't believe it!) _Dumbledore's office pushed the mysterious painting stalker out of my mind. I immediately reached up with both hands, intending to straighten my hair. However, I just brushed against the bandages, blanched, and squeaked slightly at the pain this induced. The witch looked at me in alarm, and I just shrugged at her; she smiled absently, and then turned to look up the stairway once more. I returned my attention to making myself look presentable, smoothing down my skirt and hoping that the ladder in my tights wasn't too obvious.

I'd just started on trying to flatten the creases in my jumper when a huge, wooden door came into view. It reminded me strongly of the oak door that lead into the church I sometimes went to – huge iron nails poked out, black against the russet wood, and a large iron ring acted as a door handle. I allowed the medi-witch to go first, and fell into step behind her, reasoning that she was part of the staff, and so should be respected and allowed into the room first (really, I was just hiding behind her because I felt nervous again). She didn't seem to notice my trepidation, and a small yawn escaped her as she rapped gently on the door. I peered around her, apprehension causing huge butterflies to suddenly spring to life in my stomach and flap around energetically.

"Go in – I'm just in the dungeons – I'll be with you presently," Dumbledore's voice prompted, coming from nowhere and everywhere at once. I could hear shuffling sounds inside the room, followed by a hastily stifled swear-word. Madame Pomfrey and I exchanged looks – she had her wand in her hand in an instant, and barged into the room, ready for battle. Looking around her again, I felt my jaw drop in surprise, and a guilty-pleased flush heat my face. _OK, I think I might learn to like it here after all. _

In the cluttered headmaster's office, on an overstuffed chaise-lounge, lay two men who were, shall we say, less than decently attired. Indeed, the one on the bottom was wearing nothing but his birthday suit, and had his head buried in the other's shoulder. The one on top was barely any better, keeping his dignity in rather tight underwear, and laughing fit to bust. The medi-witch just dropped her wand, a mortified look on her face. "Sirius, I'd expect this from you, but _Remus! _In the _headmaster's office! _I'm surprised at you!" The cringing werewolf tried to make himself invisible by pressing himself against the ex-felon; however, this didn't have the desired affect, as the black-haired man gasped, and then moaned, eyes closed.

Madame Pomfrey suddenly remembered that I was there, and promptly steered me out of the room. "Oh my, I can't believe – no decency – I – oh, my dear, I'm sorry you had to see that!" she spluttered, closing the door behind her, and then calling through it, "No more funny business – just get dressed, and get out!" I just grinned, enjoying the lingering after-image of the two men wrapped around each other. Then, I shook my head and felt disgusted with myself, _EWW! OK, it was all right when they were just fictional characters – you can't slash real people – that's just disturbing! Even though they are really, really pretty together… NO! No fangirling of real people, bad, bad Lee! _I mentally whacked myself with a rolled up newspaper.

"I cannot _believe_ I let you talk me into this," Remus muttered a moment later as he sidled guiltily out of the room, followed by Sirius, who was looking pleased with himself.

"You just couldn't resist my charms, could you darling?" he purred, reaching out to grab the werewolf. The medi-witch next to me tutted, and he immediately thought better of it. _Shame,_ I grinned to myself. _OK, maybe a little fangirling won't do any harm… _Remus, on the other hand, no longer seemed to find the dark-haired man as charming as I did, and proceeded to storm off down the revolving stairs at top speed. "Moony?" he ventured, taking a step forwards.

"Piss off you horny bugger," the other man yelled up, "Next time I get to choose where- OH! Uh – hi there Albus!" Remus' sounded strangled, and I could only imagine the horrified look on his face. _Bumping into your employer just after having nookie in their office. That cannot be good…_ Casting a glance in Sirius' direction, I was surprised to see that he just looked amused. The medi-witch was still glaring at him accusingly, but he ignored her, and started off down the stairs as well. Just before he went, he winked at me, and muttered,

"Best go and _console_ him after the terrible shock he's just had." There was _no way_ you could fail to pick up the entendre in there. I nodded back, and managed a small grin; God only knows how I contained the urge to follow after him and attempt to somehow record them doing the dirty. _It would sell for millions – billions even. _Coherency left my mind for a while. _I have read far too many fanfics in my time, because now all I can see are interesting scenarios involving them and liquid chocolate… _Down the stairs, I heard Sirius greet the headmaster in passing.

Next, it was my turn. His snowy-head appeared around the corner, and he smiled genially up at me as he glided closer and closer. I smiled back, and ventured a, "Good morning sir."

"Good morning, good morning!" he replied, positively beaming as he drew level with Madame Pomfrey and I. "Ah, Poppy, it's good to see you – would I be right in guessing that I don't want to know what Misters Lupin and Black were doing up here?" There was a slight disapproving note in his voice, but his eyes still twinkled.

"You would Albus," she nodded – I noted that she seemed to have turned pale from the shock. I touched my own face, and found it still hot to the touch. I focused on trying to get my face back to a normal colour. "I'll just…just go and make sure they don't get discovered some students…_again_." The idea that this could become a regular occurrence lifted my spirits somewhat. _Shut up you obsessed fangirl! _I couldn't help it… The witch hurried down the stairs, leaving the headmaster and I standing on the landing outside his office. He gestured politely for me to go through, and I did just that.

He came in after me, and the room exploded with sound. "Albus, for goodness sake, can't you keep those two under control?"

"Was having a perfectly good nap until they started at it!"

"Oh, they're only young, let them have their fun-"

"You would say that, you old perv-"

"Can't believe – would never have dared in my day!"

"Albus, really, something must be done about them!"

"I thought it was sort of hot…"

"Really! I'm shocked!"

"Oh, hush, don't pretend you didn't enjoy it-"

"How dare you? I'm an upstanding citizen of-"

"That is enough!" the headmaster commanded, and all of the portraits immediately fell sulkily silent. I could feel them glaring down at me, as though I too had done something reprehensible. The many moving painted figures made me nervous – any one of them could be my mystery stalker, hiding in plain sight… "I apologise Miss Lucis – these old codgers tend to get easily overexcited." There was a loud 'hmph!' from a painting to my left, and I saw the portly wizard in it promptly turn his back on us, and start reading a painted book, rustling the pages loudly. "Would you like to take a seat?" He gestured to the chaise lounge that had so recently been occupied by, _Holy Mary Mother of God, naughty thoughts, naughty thoughts!_

"Urm – uh – no, that's all right, I'll stand, thank you." I concentrated on the weave of the carpet (which was a decidedly un-sexy beige colour), pushing the mental image of the two- _Don't go back there, no, no, bad thoughts. You're in front of a very powerful wizard, focus on that. He could turn you into a goldfish or something with one wave of his wand! _This didn't help much, because the idea was just so farcical that it made me want to laugh. I bit back the giggles, and watched the headmaster take a seat behind his desk.

"I hope you don't mind if I sit – old bones and all."

"Not at all," I assured him, shaking my head.

"Sherbet lemon?" he proffered a small silver dish of the yellow sweets. I shook my head,

"No, than you." My stomach chose that moment to let out a loud growl – his eyebrows rose, and he put the dish down on the table once more.

"Sorry, I should have thought… You haven't had anything to eat since you arrived: Dobby?" There was a sharp crack that made me jump, and a curious creature that seemed to be made of woolly hats and socks ambled over to the headmaster, pausing to bow to me as it went by. I caught sight of two tennis-ball sized eyes, and bat-like ears, and it fell into place. _A house-elf! _"Could you bring up some tea and something to eat for Miss Lucis and me?"

"Oh, no sir, it's all right, you don't have to-" But there was another crack and the elf had disappeared. "Thank you," I ended lamely. He steepled his fingers and rested his chin on them, regarding me with those unnervingly intelligent eyes. Lazily, he swept his blackened wand hand, and a comfy chair appeared in front of his desk, opposite him.

"Would you care for a seat? One that was not so recently occupied?" I managed a small smile at the mischievous reference to the two randy men who'd recently fled.

"Thanks," I slid into the chair, grateful to take the weight off of my aching feet. _What possessed me to wear bloody heels in the first place?_ I sank back into the padding of the chair, sighing slightly as I got comfortable.

"Comfortable?" he asked, now leaning back in his own chair, and gathering up a few papers that had been resting under a paperweight that looked suspiciously like a huge ruby. _Blimey, he must be rich… _

"Yeah, thanks, very," I answered, throat drying up again in the presence of the man. He studied the papers for a brief second, and then dropped them into his lap.

"Now, Miss Lucis, Professor McGonagall and I have been discussing your situation and ways to remedy it." This immediately caught my attention, and I leant forwards, elbows on the edge of the desk, chin in hands to listen.

"Did you come up with anything?"

"Well, I-"

_Crack._ "Here is your food, headmaster sir," Dobby squeaked, depositing a huge tray onto the table. On it was a steaming teapot, two delicate bone-china tea-cups, a small jug of milk, a bowl of sugar, a toast-rack full of perfectly done toast, plates and knives, and a whole load of spreads and preserves to put on said toast. "Dobby is hoping that sir and miss will enjoy their breakfast," the small creature bowed so low that his pencil-like nose brushed the floor – one of the woolly hats fell off, and he grabbed it expertly.

"Thank you Dobby, it looks delicious!" Professor Dumbledore chortled.

"Yes, thank you very much," I agreed. _I seem to be saying thank you a lot recently… Ah well, dad would be proud of how polite I'm being…_ The thought of my dad, combined with the _crack_ as the house-elf disappeared for the second time, snapped me back to the conversation at hand. "Sir?" I ventured, as he poured amber-coloured tea into both cups. "You were telling me about ways to help with my situation?" I prompted as he handed one of the cups to me. I took it, and drank it as it was – I've never been able to stand milk in tea…

"Ah, yes – well, not as such, I'm afraid. We have a few ideas, but we're honestly stumped. Having searched through the library, we can't find one incident anything like yours to compare with." I sagged in the chair, and put my cup down, in danger of spilling all the tea, I was shaking so badly.

"I see," I said morosely.

"I'm sorry," he murmured consolingly, also putting his own cup down. He leant forwards over the desk and caught my eye as I looked up again. "However, just because we haven't managed to find anything in our library doesn't mean that all hope is lost. I've sent messages to friends and associates of mine to see if they can find anything that may help. Until then, I believe that the best course of action would be for you to stay here."

"But- I- But…" I began, but couldn't actually think of anything to say. "That's…very kind of you – I wouldn't want to put you out-" He just waved his un-injured hand dismissively,

"No bother, no bother at all, I assure you! And, considering your talent for occlumency, I believe some lessons wouldn't go amiss." I froze and stared at him. "Of course, you'd have to start from the bottom, but I believe you should pick it up fairly well."

"You – you're offering me a…a place here…as a student?" I breathed, gripping the arms of the chair so hard that I could see my knuckles turning white.

"That's the long and the short of it, yes," he nodded, though the smile had fallen slightly at my less-than-enthusiastic reaction. He tried to convince me of the idea, "You have a rare gift, and it would be a shame to waste it – with training, it could prove very useful."

_Useful for whom?_ I thought darkly, looking at my lap and frowning. "I can't," I said simply through gritted teeth.

"Ungrateful little mudbloo-"

"Silencio!" the headmaster jabbed towards a painting of a shrewd looking man with grizzled black hair and a thin face. "Phineas, if you ever use that disgusting word again, I swear there'll be one less painting of you in the world!" The man just glared at him murderously, and then disappeared from the frame altogether. "I do apologise," he said to me, sounding embarrassed and angry all at once. "He has his uses, but he can be a detestable fellow at times…" I was still staring at the empty frame, confused. "He'll be in his other painting."

"Oh," I nodded, supposing I should understand what on earth he was on about.

"Why can't you?" the headmaster picked up the previous conversation where we'd left off.

"I just…can't," I looked at the desktop. "Magic has…it holds bad memories for me; I wouldn't feel…comfortable…using it…" The blue eyes twinkled knowingly at this.

"It's done things without you wanting it to, hasn't it?" he asked.

"What?"

"Your magic – it has done things without you expressly commanding it to do so?"

"Yes, but…" I panicked and immediately threw up the same mind-barriers I'd used against Snape. When the headmaster didn't so much as flinch, I realised he hadn't been prying at all. _How the hell do you guess something like that?_ He was nodding to himself. "How did you-?"

"Guess?"

"Yeah."

"It's not all that uncommon – many muggle-born witches and wizards find themselves unable to control their magic – it only gets worse as they grow older, unless they are taught how to manage that magic."

"I see…" _I wish I could tell whether he was telling the truth or just spinning a yarn to convince me…_ I studied his face for signs of falseness – there was nothing. He was completely genuine. "So, if I just leave it, what will happen?"

"It's likely that your magic will become bored, and will do more and more outrageous spells to try and make you utilise it… It could have disastrous consequences."

"So it's probably best that I learn how to use it then?"

"Probably – though I would advise only to do so because you feel you want to." _Oh, don't try and be nice, you know you have me backed into a corner you sly old man! _"I would strongly advise it."

"I had a feeling you'd say that." I couldn't help the grin that spread across my face at his mock-guilty look. "So, I'm a student?"

"If you want to be – only temporarily of course."

"Until we find a way for me to get back home, right?"

"Agreed."

"OK then… Is there anything I need to do to make it official?" I nodded to the papers in his lap – he picked them up and shoved them towards me across the table, pushing the breakfast tray out of the way. "I see you planned ahead," I commented dryly, now calm enough to pick up my cup and take another sip of tea.

"Well, I had the feeling that you'd agree with me," he answered, now shamelessly grinning. He grabbed a piece of toast, and buttered it liberally. I read the pieces of parchment, and felt those butterflies beginning to flutter in my stomach again. Before I could voice my worries, the headmaster answered my questions through a mouthful of toast. "Don't worry, the ministry provides a fund for students unable to finance the supplies needed…" He swallowed, and then lowered his voice conspiratorially, "Of course, we're going to have to pretend that you're an exchange student of some sort, so they don't get suspicious."

"I see," I looked at him with a new sense of admiration. "That would take quite a devious scheme, wouldn't it?"

"I'm afraid it would – suffice to say, I don't think the ministry would be very happy if they found out."

"In which case, I'll ensure that they don't…from what I know of them, they're a bunch of bloody annoying bureaucrats." I paused, and then gasped, horrified that I had sworn in front of Dumbledore. He just continued to look amused, and pushed the toast rack towards me.

"I quite agree with you on that matter – toast?"

And that was how it came to be that I became a temporary 'exchange student' at Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry.

* * *

As soon as I'd signed the papers to confirm that I was indeed a French-Canadian exchange student (I decided that would be the most likely cover story – if all else failed, I'd just start speakingwhat littleFrench I knewand hope no one understood me), the headmaster started to draw up plans regarding getting me supplies and so on. Finally, he decided that, as the weekend was only two days away, I could make do with borrowing in lessons and so on, and go to Diagon Alley on the Saturday with a teacher escort. I felt apprehensive, and part of me wished that they'd find a way to get me home before I had to brave the wizard haunt of London. Whilst he was detailing this plan to me, I found a few things that he seemed to have forgotten.

"So, I think that's everything – you'd best go back to the hospital wing for now, and I'll see about arranging for you to start lessons tomorrow."

"Urm, sir, I don't mean to be a pain, but there are a few things I need pretty much immediately…"

"Indeed? Well, ask my dear!" I nodded and smiled my thanks.

"Well, to start, a change of clothes perhaps? And wash-things – that sort of thing…?"

"Of course!" he looked genuinely surprised. "How could I forget such simple- goodness, I'm getting senile in my old age," he chuckled. "Well, in that case…hrm…what to do, what to do…? I dare say there are some spare school robes and uniforms, but I'm not sure we've anything in your size…they're generally for the first years after all…"

"I see…well, can you think of anywhere else I could-" he snapped his fingers suddenly, cutting me off mid-speech. The look on his face made me half-expect him to exclaim 'eureka!' However, he actually said,

"I can't believe I didn't think of it sooner! I was going to say Hogsmeade, but that would require an excursion from the grounds – but, of course, this school never ceases to amaze…" I stared at him, perturbed and confused. He abruptly rose to his feet, and I followed suit, dropping the crust of toast I'd been picking at for about ten minutes. "If you'll follow me Miss Lucis, I believe I can sort out this problem for you."

"OK." I raised my eyebrow as he hurried out of the office – one of the female inhabitants of the portraits giggled,

"Don't worry petal, he may be a little mad, but he's a dear!" I looked at her, and then laughed,

"Thanks!" before hurrying off after the retreating silver-haired man.

…

Once again, my feet started to throb, and I wondered who's clever idea it was to make the school so bloody _huge_. We'd been walking for miles – it felt like miles. I even thought we'd begun to walk in circles, because the corridors were all beginning to look the same – we'd passed the same portrait of a woman with red curls and a pretty face several times now…

"Oof!" I walked into something very solid and alive. The rebound from the collision sent me reeling backwards, and it was only by luck that I didn't fall backwards and concuss myself all over again.

"Oh dear, are you all right?" the thing I'd walked into turned out to be the headmaster. "So sorry, I should have warned you – here, follow me." We must have taken a wrong turning, because he was heading back the way we'd come. I followed, and was nearly knocked into again as he turned sharply on his heel and doubled back again, staring a blank piece of wall on the left hand side of the corridor. I followed doggedly, something niggling at the back of my mind. _This is familiar…but why? _He turned for a third time, walked a few paces, and then smiled in satisfaction at the wall opposite.

I felt ready to write him off as a loon, and looked at the wall to see what he found so interesting. I choked when I saw a door there. A door that had most definitely not been there a second before. "How-?"

"Magic," he answered simply, striding over to the door and pushing it open. "I wasn't sure what sort of things you'd need, so I hazarded a general guess – the room will change to cater for your needs. I'll be back at," he consulted his watch, "ten o'clock, when the students will be in lessons, to escort you back to the hospital wing. That gives you just under three hours. You'll be all right, won't you?" I lingered in the doorway, looking at the cozy looking sitting room within in wonder.

"Yes, thanks."

"If you need anything, just snap your fingers and call for Dobby." I thought about telling him that I can't actually snap my fingers properly, but let it go. It didn't matter. "See you later then."

"See you later sir." He started off, and then I panicked, "OH! Sir, what if people see the door and come in?"

"Don't worry – only you and I will be able to see the door whilst you're using the room."

"Oh…"

"Ta ta!" I watched him walk down the corridor until he turned and was out of sight. Then, I turned back to the room he'd summoned up. _The room of requirement, that's **it! **I knew it was familiar. _There was a glowing fire in the grate of the small room, and a comfy, shabby looking sofa in front of it. Two doors led off – checking them, I found a bathroom, and a large closet full of clothes and toiletries. _Excellent. _Determined to get the hell out of the rumpled clothes I'd now been wearing for over seventy-two hours non-stop, I started to rummage through the clothes.

It seemed my previous enthusiasm had been premature. The closet was full of clothes yes…but these were the clothes of yester-year. I picked out a hideous floral print knee length dress, complete with sleeve ruffles, and sighed. "Oh dear…" I put the dress back, and continued to rifle through, hoping for something a little less embarrassing. After a few seconds of fruitless search, I remembered what Professor Dumbledore had said. _The room will change to cater for your needs. _"Well, in that case – I need some clothes I can wear without being mortally embarrassed."

I closed the door of the closet, counted slowly to ten, and opened it again. I grinned on finding a load of posters stuck on the inside of the door, as well as countless post-its with things like 'pick up the milk' and 'remind Emma of hair-cut at half five' written on them. _My wardrobe! _I started looking through the selection of my clothes, absently grabbing underwear and socks from the basket on the second highest shelf as I did so. I lingered longingly over my floor-length fuschia taffeta skirt and the blacktank-top I always paired it with. However, I then remembered that Hogwarts was a much more conservative place than college. So, instead, I settled on a pair of plain black jeans and a white and pink pinstripe shirt (predominantly pink (like most of my wardrobe) with white stripes). Then, I picked up a pair of flat black shoes (having learnt my lesson already regarding high heels), and added it to the pile in my arms. Then, I grabbed my toothbrush and toothpaste, and tottered into the bathroom.

Thankfully, things like shampoo and soap had already been provided, so it was easy enough to have a shower. I spent a lot longer under the stream of hot water than I usually would, allowing all of my knotted muscles to relax one by one. _It's been a stressful few days,_ I reasoned as I stepped out and grabbed a towel to dry myself off. Igently driedmy hair with the towel, careful of the recently healed cuts and bruises littering my cranium, and then looked at myself in the mirror. _Oh God, my hair is going to be interesting…_ There was a sound like a sigh, and a hairdryer appeared on the shelf that also now held a hairbrush and hair products. _Score! Now **this** is cushy!_ I decided then and there that I could get used to this sort of thing!

…

After I dried my hair, I studied it from every angle, before coming to the conclusion that it had probably never looked better than it did at that precise moment. _If this is the effect magic is going to have on my God-awful mop, maybe I **do **__like it_. I dismissed that thought quickly when the sight of my necklace (a silver cross on a simple chain) – which I'd taken off for the shower – reminded me of mother. She'd given it to me years and years ago, before… _Stupid girl, how could you even think magic was- Idiot!_ I gripped the sides of the sink hard, and stared at myself in the mirror, hating what I saw reflected back.

When I couldn't stand to look at myself anymore, I finished drying myself off, and pulled on my clothes – in my haste, I managed to get the zip on my jeans stuck, and spent five minutes wrestling with the damn things before doing them up. Then, I shrugged on my shirt and managed to button it up wrong, meaning I had to start all over again… Eventually, I managed to get my clothes on correctly, and I brushed my teeth without looking into the mirror. That done, I exited the bathroom quickly, and went to sit down on the sofa to wait. It was only about quarter to eight by now… I wondered what I could do to pass the time.

A bookcase that hadn't been there earlier now caught my eye – I went over to it, and looked at the spines. One title immediately caught my eye.

_The infamous 'A History of Hogwarts'_. I pulled it out, went back over to the sofa, and began to read.

* * *

Only a little while later, the student populace of the castle began to stir. I could hear the pattering of many pairs of feet running along the corridor, and resisted the urge to take a peek. I've always been curious; sometimes it's hard to curb my enthusiasm, so God only knows how I managed it… I was surprised by how similar the sounds were to the ones I heard gong into college every morning – there was chatter, the occasional yell, laughter, and moaning about the weight of bags/ amount of homework/ the first lesson of the day, and so on.

_If I were at home right now, I'd already be in registration. _I wondered what time their lessons started, if the professor was waiting until ten to collect me… _Though I suppose they do need to eat breakfast first, so…can't be for a while yet. _

So far, I'd managed to read the first chapter of the book, entitled 'The origins of Hogwarts'. I'd known pretty much all of the story so far, but the pictures of the founders had been very interesting. Especially the one of Rowena Ravenclaw, whom I immediately recognised as: _Blimey! It can't be…the woman from the bathroom… _In the picture of the book, she was twirling a blue ribbon around and around her tapered fingers… _OK, this is just **creepy** now. _I snapped the book shut, her eyes too searching for my liking. _But why would she be following me anyway? _I couldn't think of any reason; unless of course they still thought me a spy.

_But then, why would they have offered me a place – oh God, I'm a student!_ It sounds stupid, I know, but the fact hadn't really sunk in. I was still half-expecting to wake up and find that this had all been some sort of mad dream. _I can only hope… _Agitatedly, I slipped the heavy tome from my lap and rose from the sofa. It was now only quarter past eight. _How to amuse myself for another hour and three quarters? _

Again thinking back to the headmaster's instructions, I chewed my lip thoughtfully, wondering whether, in the laws of physics, what I was planning to do was even possible. _Physics? You're in a magical world! Physics doesn't come into it! _It's surprising just how astute (if rude) my subconscious can be at times…

Deciding to risk it, I sat down on the sofa again, thinking that it might be better to try it sitting down…or something… Hell, I don't know why I sat down, I just did!

Anyway… I closed my eyes to concentrate (noticing it was now silent in the corridor), and thought of my stereo – and my mp3 player. I imagined them appearing on the floor in front of me, the light-up screen of the player glowing slightly as it turned on, ready to play. I also envisioned the shiny casement of the stereo, complete with protective plastic cover to save it from scratching.

Something nudged my foot, and I opened my eyes, fully expecting the magic to have worked. It had! Or at least, it partially had…

Rather than my shiny new stereo and mp3 player, a little radio had appeared, alongside a vinyl record player. I mentally shrugged, _eh, close enough! _Eagerly, I slipped off the sofa and started rifling through the box of records that had also materialised. To my delight, I found a huge collection of Frank Sinatra and Peggy Lee records, as well as a few more up to date things by Queen and Spandau Ballet. Gleefully, I eased out one of the vinyls by good ol' Frank, with tracks like 'Come Fly With Me' and 'High Hopes' on it.

Then, reverently (I'd never seen a record of Sinatra's in such _mint_ condition, and I didn't want to damage it), I dropped it onto the turntable, and carefully put the needle onto the edge. The needle jumped a little as I started the player up, and then there was a hiss of silence before the orchestra started up to accompany Frank. Delighted with the quality of the sound, I rose to my feet again, and started to do that embarrassing sort of dancing you only ever do when _alone_.

Then, he started singing, and I was astounded – it sounded almost as though he were in the room with me! _Wow – how amazing is this? _I joined in, a little croakily considering I hadn't done any practice since starting my job at the paper. For the next hour or so, I was able to forget all my troubles and dance around that room like a lunatic.

_Heaven._

* * *

_Thank you so much for the reviews! Again, I'll express amazement – I only started writing this to stop the plot-bunnies from hopping around my room and eating my pot-plants, so…I find it amazing that people actually like this idea. I know OCs, especially female ones who arrive in an otherworldly manner into the HP universe are generally frowned upon…hopefully, Lee isn't going to fall into the trap of being too annoying/boring to live. (Plus, I need some way to let off the 'OMG, Snape is like SO FIT' steam, dangit!) _

_Note: He is. He's shmexiful. _

_Extra note: sorry the story seems to be moving so slowly – I'm a detail whore…_

_Extra, extra note: I know people are always edgy when it comes to writing Dumbledore - I'm no exception to that rule - I know how hard it is to write a character like Albus, so hopefully I haven't completely ruined him..._


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